The Proposal
by charliewo
Summary: They were just two people who were never meant to fall in love, but did. (Crossover! The Proposal plot, Faberry style.)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal (2009)**_**. **

**A/N: For the purpose of a story, let's just pretend like gay marriage is legal. Because, really, we all know it should be.**

* * *

I squint against a ray of sunlight that somehow made its way through a crack in the curtain. That's weird, usually I'm up just before the sun rises. I blink a few more times and blow the hair out of my face before sinking further into the sheets.

Wait. The sun. I shoot up and grab the clock, tumbling out of bed and crumple onto the floor. The clock reads 6:30AM, which means I was already almost an hour behind schedule.

"Shit!"

I jump up and kick off the sheets tangled around my feet and head into the bathroom to get as much done as I can. I shove the toothbrush into my mouth and glance into the mirror, wincing when I saw my wild hair. I looked like a fucking lion foaming at the mouth (thanks to the toothpaste), but there was no time to shower.

Hopefully someone would just think it was sex hair. I mean, it could happen, right?

Somehow managing to pat down the mane, I slide on a pair of black, form-fitting pants and start buttoning up the collared shirt, slipping on a tie and vest to draw some attention away from my hair.

Rushing out of the apartment and through the mass of fellow NYCers, I make my way to the nearest Starbucks, sending a little 'thank you' prayer up to the heavens that I live so close to the office. However, encountering a line nearly out the door, I quickly retract the prayer and swear under my breath, shoving my way to the front.

"Quinn, hey!" The barista calls, beckoning me over. "Here you go. Your regular lattes."

I shoot her a grateful smile and take the lattes from her. "Literally saved my life. Thank you, thank you!"

She smirks as I wink at her before weaving my way out of the shop, ignoring all the annoyed customers. Man, it really pays to flirt sometimes.

I glance at my watch, seeing that I'm going to be late if I don't pick it up a bit. I increase my pace, thanking the stars for my crazy ass cheer coach back home. Seriously, she must have gotten her drills from the Marines or something. As I practically run into the building, I see the elevator doors start to close. Sucking in a breath, I leap into the two foot gap, raising both coffees over my head as I crash into a wall of suits.

They grunt at me as I regain my balance and step forward to give them their space.

"Everyone okay?" I ask, looking around. It's all blank stares and glares, so I just return my gaze to the elevator doors. "Yeah, yeah. Me too."

As soon as the elevator doors reopen, I rocket out of there. The secretary glances up at me. "Cuttin' it close."

"One of those mornings!" I call out over my shoulder, only to collide with some dumb ass intern and a cart, spilling one of the lattes all over my shirt.

"Sorry!" The intern squeaks, scuttling away before I can knock some sense into him.

"Sweet Jesus!" I mutter, marching over to my desk and slamming down the remaining coffee cup.

My coworker, Mike, takes in my sorry, coffee-stained state and chuckles. "Rub some dirt on it, sistah."

I glare at him, then notice what he's wearing. I give him a sickening-sweet smile. "Mike. I need the shirt off your back. Literally."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Yankees, Boston, this Tuesday," I say, "two company seats for your shirt. You have five seconds to decide. Four. Three. Two…"

"Alright!" Mike says, tugging his shirt over his head. "Jeeze."

I shrug off my shirt to hand it over and glance towards the door to make sure the boss isn't here yet. Thankfully, Mike's a similar size as me, and the shirt fits fine, though it is a little long. I tuck the extra length into my pants, roll the sleeves, and pull on the vest, looping the tie through the collar once again.

Just as I finish up, Rachel strides into the room, arguing on the phone with a client. I gather a few reports, check over her schedule, and grab her latte before following her into her office and closing the door.

When I turn around, she has hung up and is sitting down at her desk, shuffling through a few papers. The boss looks like she has gotten a good night's sleep for once; she is refreshed, the early morning sunlight making her tan skin glow. Her wavy brown hair shimmers in the swirling dust motes. Rachel's light use of make-up is flawless. Though, she'd probably be just as pretty without any. If she smiled more, she'd be a goddess.

But she was a hell-bound, heartless monster of a woman.

I clear my throat, trying to shake the thoughts from my head, and she extends her arm without even looking up at me. I roll my eyes but step forward to hand her the latte.

"Morning," I say, "you have a conference call in thirty minutes."

She takes a sip of the espresso and nods. "Yes, about the marketing of the spring books. I know."

Well, then. _Maybe you can just do the job on your own_, I think, but continue. "Staff meeting at 9:00."

She drums her fingers on the desk and scrutinizes me. "Did you call…what's her name? The one with the ugly hands."

_Really nice, Rachel._ "Janet?"

She waves her hand, like names are trivial. "Yes, Janet."

"Yes," I say. "I did. I told her that if she doesn't get her manuscript in on time you won't give her a release date."

She nods her approval and returns her attention to the manuscript in from of her. I start to inch towards the door, stopping just before it. "Um, your immigration lawyer called. He said it's imperative…"

The boss takes a deep breath, massaging her temples. "Cancel the call, push the meeting to tomorrow, keep the lawyer on the sheets. Get a hold of PR, have them start drafting a press release. Frank is doing Oprah."

"Wow. Nicely done." Frank had been a hermit for the past few decades, and no one had been able to get him to stick out his head and talk about just how brilliant he is. But, of course, dragon lady never takes no for an answer. I never should have doubted her, really. It's a strength and weakness of hers.

"If I want your praise, I will ask for it."

I bite my lip to keep a snarky remark from escaping, and turn to open the door.

"Who is…who is Jillian?" I freeze, door midway open. She is reclining back in her large black chair, looking smug. "And why does she want me to call her?"

"Well, that was originally my cup."

"And I'm drinking your coffee, why?"

"Because your coffee spilled," I say, wincing.

She takes another long sip. "So, you drink unsweetened, cinnamon light soy lattes?"

"I do," I reply. "It's like Christmas in a cup."

"Is that a coincidence?"

"Incredibly, it is. I wouldn't drink the same coffee that you drink just in case yours spilled. That would be pathetic," I deadpan, and hear the phone ring.

As I reach for the phone, I mentally facepalm. _Really_, _Fabray?_ _Christmas in a cup_? "Hello, Ms. Berry's office. Hey, Finn." I glance over to Rachel, who motions towards the door. "Actually, we're headed to your office right now. Yeah." I hang up and frown. "Why are we going to Finn's office?"

She brushes past me, saying nothing and begins to gather some papers. _Right, okay. No answer._

I step ahead of her and out to my desk, bending over the computer to type out a warning to my coworkers. _The witch is on her broom._

The office people are immediately a flurry of files and fake phone calls, feigning work. I roll my eyes and open the door for Rachel.

"Have you finished the manuscript I gave you?" I ask as I match her brisk pace.

"I read a few pages," she says. "I wasn't that impressed."

"Can I say something?"

"No."

"I've read thousands of manuscripts, this is the only one I've given you." _The only reason I put up with you every single day for hours on end_, I think, but don't say. "There's an incredible novel in there. The kind of novels you used to publish."

"Wrong. And I do think you order the same coffee as I do just in case you spill, which is, in fact, pathetic." She casts me a sideways glance.

"Or impressive."

"I'd be impressed if you didn't spill in the first place," she says, stepping into Finn's office. "Remember, you're a prop."

"Won't say a word," I mutter.

"Our fearless leader and her liege," Finn says, grinning his lopsided smile. I glare at him and his dumb humor. "Please, do come in."

Rachel looks around the office, and I remain near the door. "Beautiful breakfront. Is it new?"

Finn leaned against the front of his desk. "It is English Regency Egyptian Revival, built in the 1800s but, yes, it is new to my office."

I held in a groan. _Cocky douchebag._

"Witty," Rachel drawls, seeming to have a similar reaction. "Finn, I'm letting you go."

"Pardon?" He stands up, towering over my tiny boss. My mouth drops open at her bluntness, and I rushed to close the door for privacy. _The fuck?_ _A heads up next time would be nice. _

Finn's just as shocked as I am, but manages to school his features somewhat.

"I asked you a dozen times to get Frank to do Oprah, and you didn't do it," she says. "You're fired."

"I have told you, that is impossible," he argues. "Frank hasn't done an interview in 20 years."

Rachel tilts her head. "That's interesting, because I just got off the phone with him, and he is in."

"Excuse me?" Finn backs up a little. He looks like Rachel just ripped his balls off and fed them to a rhino or T-rex or something.

"You didn't even call him, did you?"

"But..."

"I know, I know." She sighs. "Frank can be a little scary to deal with. For you." Finn's fists clench and his face grows red. "Now, I will give you two months to find another job. And then you can tell everyone you resigned, OK?"

It's a reasonable offer. I mean, two months of pay, and you can slack off all you want while looking for a job…it was much better than being fired and kicked to the curb, that's for sure.

I open the door and follow her out.

"What's his twenty?"

I glance behind us. "He's moving. He has crazy eyes."

"Don't do it, Finn. Don't do it." I hear her mutter to herself, and find myself worrying about her for a moment.

Then shit gets real.

"You poisonous bitch!" Finn yells, swaggering out of his office. I see Rachel cringe before feigning nonchalance and turning to face him and his rant. "You can't fire me! You don't think I see what you're doing here? Sandbagging me on this Oprah thing so that you can look good to the board?" Encouraged by coworkers' stares, he continues, waggling a finger at her. "Because you are _threatened_ by me! And you are a monster!"

"Finn, stop," Rachel warns with a weird smile. It's more of a grimace. I shrink behind her a little—Finn was losing it and I was _not_ going to get sucked into this.

"Just because you have no semblance of a life outside of this office, you think that you can treat all of us like your own personal slaves. You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because you know what you're gonna have on your deathbed? Nothing and no one." He crosses his arms and smirks.

I gasp. Okay, that was uncalled for. Our boss can be a heartless bitch, yeah, and maybe I've fantasized about her getting swallowed by a hippo or dropped out of a plane before, but Finn's words ripped out her insecurities and got way too personal.

Rachel clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is quiet but firm. It's harsher than a yell. "Listen carefully, Finn. I didn't fire you because I feel threatened. No. I fired you because you're lazy, entitled, incompetent and you spend more time cheating on your wife than you do in your office.

"And if you say another word, Quinn here is gonna have you thrown out, OK?"

My eyes widen and Finn opens his mouth, but Rachel interrupts him before he can begin. "_Another_ word, and you're going out of here with an armed escort. Quinn will film it with her camera phone and she'll put it on that Internet site."

She pauses and turns to me. "What was it?"

"YouTube?"

"Exactly." She glances back at Finn. "Is that what you want?"

He takes a step back, shaking his head. _Rachel 2, Finn 0._

"Didn't think so. I have work to do." She turns on her heel and I scramble to catch up. "Have security take his breakfront and put it in my conference room."

"Will do." I'm still stunned by the showdown, but her next request shakes me from my shock.

"I need you this weekend to help review his files and his manuscript."

"This weekend?" I ask.

"You have a problem with that?"

"No. I... just my grandmother's 90th birthday, so I was gonna go home and..." I can tell she isn't listening at all, and mutter the rest dryly to myself. "It's fine. I'll cancel it. You're saving me from a weekend of misery, so it's... Good talk, yeah."

I stalk to my desk and lift the phone, dialing my home number to let my family know I won't be able to make it. My mother's pissed.

"_It's her 90__th__ birthday, Quinnie."_

"I know, I know, okay? Tell Gammy I'm sorry. What do you want me to tell you? She's making me work the weekend."

"_Can't you just tell her no? You've already given up so much. She'll understand. Just go march into her office and explain!"_

"No, I'm not... no."

"_Why don't you just quit, dear? You're miserable."_

I sigh. "I've worked too hard for this promotion to throw it all away."

"_You're father isn't going to be happy."_

"I'm sure that Dad is going to be pissed," I grumble. Feeling someone behind me, I switch to business mode. "But we take all of our submissions around here seriously. We'll get back to you as soon as we can." I end the phone call and stand to face the boss.

She gazes at me for a moment and I shift uncomfortably under her steady brown eyes. "Was that your family?"

"Yes," I say, running a hand through my hair.

"They tell you to quit?"

"Every single day."

There's an awkward pause, until I'm saved by the phone.

"Bergen and Malloy want to see you upstairs," I say, dropping the receiver back into its cradle.

"Okay, come and get me in ten minutes, we've got a lot to do," she orders, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she strides away.

"Okey-dokey," I reply, letting my gaze wander down her backside. Damn, those three inch heels are really working for her today. Not that she needs heels—her tiny height makes her adorable.

_Ugh, not again. Remember who you're thinking about, Q, _I remind myself, forcing my attention to the screen in front of me.

* * *

Ten minutes later, on the dot, I knock on the large company door and poke my head in.

"Excuse me, we're in a meeting," one of the suits says.

I ignore him, focusing on Rachel. "Sorry to interrupt—"

"What?!" She snaps at me, nearly growling. _What the hell did I walk into?_

"Um, Mary from Ms. Winfrey's office called. She's on the line."

"I know."

"She's on hold," I say. "She needs to speak with you. I told her you were otherwise engaged, but she insisted, so... sorry."

Rachel was clearly fuming about something, so I figured I might as well get her out of here before she did something irrational. "So…" I say raising an eyebrow, and motion for her to come with me downstairs.

Then, all of a sudden, she has this look on her face, and she's staring at me like it's the first time we've seen each other. I turn my head to the side slightly, asking her _why the fuck are you looking at_ _me like that?_

"Come here," she finally says, waving me over. She's got crazy eyes and a tight smile and that's never a good combination. I step away from the door to stand beside her, knowing I'm going to get an explanation and that it'll just be easier if I play along, like usual.

"Gentlemen, I understand," she begins, "I understand the predicament that we are in. And… and there's, well... I think there's something that you should know."

Rachel glances up at me, and I return her stare, confused. She's never at a loss for words. Then she reaches over and pokes my arm a few times, putting on a wide grin. "We're getting married! We are getting married."

"Who is getting married?" I ask.

"You and I," she says, and raises an eyebrow to dare me to say otherwise. "You and I are getting married! Yes."

"We are…" I repeat, trailing off.

"Getting married," she finishes, biting her lip.

"We are getting married," I say._ Was this a joke? Is this a national give your assistant a heart attack day?_ I glance around, looking for a hidden camera.

"Yes," she confirms, laying her hand on my shoulder. I reflexively go to put my hand over hers, but she pulls away.

"Isn't she your secretary?" One of the suits spoke up.

"Assistant," I correct.

"Executive... assistant, secretary. Titles," she waves her hand in the air. "But, wouldn't be the first time one of us fell for our secretaries. Would it, William?" She addresses the suit who asked the question. "With Emma. Remember?" He blushes while the other guy snickers at him.

"So, yeah. The truth is, you know," Rachel says. "Quinn and I, we're..." We exchanged a glance, and I nod for her to continue, because there is no way I was helping her spin this bullshit. Hell, I still wasn't completely sure what was happening. "...we are just two people who weren't meant to fall in love, but we did."

"No," I say. _Never meant to fall in love. Ever._

"All those late nights at the office and weekend book fairs," she adds. "Yeah..."

"No," I repeat.

"Something happened." She awkwardly puts her arm around my waist.

"Something." I try to smile. "Yeah."

"Tried to fight it and... Can't fight a... Can't fight… Can't fight a love like ours, so..." If I wasn't so horrified with what was being said, her struggle with words would have amused me to no end. She withdraws her arm from my hip and I find myself shifting closer to her. "Are we good with this? Are you happy? Because, well, we are happy. So happy." She smiles and pinches my cheek.

"Rachel," suit guy—Will—says.

"Yes?"

"It's terrific. Just make it legal." He holds up a hand and wiggles his finger.

"Legal. Right." She starts backing up towards the door, tugging me along by the cuff of my shirt. "Yeah, well, then that means we, we need to get ourselves to the immigration office. So we can work this whole mess out. Right?

"Thank you very much, gentlemen. We will do that right away."

"Thank you," I mutter. "Gentlemen."

"Thank you," Rachel says, yanking me out of the room. We head back to her office, passing the mob of employees, who had somehow managed to find out about what had happened upstairs. I tug on my tie, feeling like I'm suffocating.

"_Rachel and Quinn are getting married!"_

"_What is that about?"_

"_Dragon Lady! Here they come."_

"_Yeah."_

"_What is she thinking?"_

"_Married? Didn't even know they were dating."_

Mike laughs at me. "Dude, for real. Her?"

I shoot him a glare and follow the boss into her office and shut the door. She either doesn't notice I've come in or chooses to pretend like nothing happened. Either way, I remain stationed in the middle of the room.

"What?" She finally asks.

"I don't understand what's happening," I say, looking at her incredulously.

"Relax. This is for you, too."

"Do explain."

"They were going to make Finn chief."

"So, naturally, I would have to marry you?" I ask.

"What's the problem? Like you were saving yourself for someone special?" She flips the page of a manuscript.

"I like to think so," I mutter. "Besides, it's illegal."

"They're looking for terrorists, not for book publishers."

Okay, this chick is crazy. Off the rails. Does she really think I'm just going to marry her? What if I had been in a relationship? I had a life. There was more to life than my job, and I'd made enough sacrifices already. She'd have to let me off the hook. Besides, what could she do if I said no? She'd be deported back to Canada and I'd get Finn as a new boss, who would probably be less of a satan and more of an idiotic, manageable ass.

"Rachel."

"Yes?"

"I'm not gonna marry you."

"Sure you are. Because if you don't, your dreams of touching the lives of millions with the written word are dead. Finn is gonna fire you the second I'm gone. Guaranteed. That means you're out on the street looking for a job. That means the time that we spent together, the lattes, the cancelled dates, the midnight Tampax runs, were all for nothing and all your dreams of being an editor are gone."

As she spoke, the walls closed in on me. I was suffocated before, but now I was crushed. Because everything she was saying was true, no matter how badly I wanted to deny it. My only chance was dependent on her being here. I suck in a breath of air, trying to fill my lungs.

"Don't worry, after the required allotment of time, we'll get a divorce and you'll be done with me. But until then, like it or not, your wagon is hitched to mine."

I stand, gaping at her. She glances up at me. "Okay? Phone."

* * *

The immigration office is packed with people. How is it always so busy every day? I mean, yeah, there's a _lot_ of people in NYC, it being the place where dreams come true and all, but come on.

Rachel, still dressed in a pencil skirt and fitted blazer and blouse, surveys the busy room before pushing her way to the front. "This way."

"Rachel!" I hiss.

"Come."

"That's the line," I point out, but follow her anyway. There was no winning with the brunette.

"Next, please," the employee drawls out.

Rachel hops in front of someone, giving them a smile. "Just… sorry, I need to ask something. I need you to file this fiancée visa for me, please."

I hide behind my boss, hoping no one will notice me, especially the worker behind the desk. She, however, throws a dirty look at the two of us. I want to melt into the floor.

But Rachel looks behind her and around her, impatiently waiting for the woman to assist her. She has to be made of stone to ignore a glare like that. The lady gives us our papers back, and motions for us to wait. I apologize for Rachel, before following her into a back room.

"I have a bad feeling about this." I whisper. She rolls her eyes, but says nothing.

A half hour later, a creepy looking man comes in. He has frizzy hair and round glasses and lookes proud of himself. Too proud. "Miss Berry?"

"Yes."

"Hi. Hello."

"Hello," she responds, and puts down her phone.

"Hi. I'm Mr. Israel."

"Hi."

He turns to me. "And you must be Quinn."

I nod.

"Well, sorry about the wait. It's a crazy day today."

"Of course, of course. We understand," Rachel says, pretending like she hadn't cut the line out of impatience. "I can't tell you how much we appreciate you seeing us on such short notice."

"OK," he says, looking through the papers. "So, I have one question for you. Are you both committing fraud to avoid her deportation so she can keep her position as editor in chief at Colden Books?

"That's ridiculous," I squeak, feeling my stomach drop to the floor.

"Where did you hear that?" Rachel asks, sitting up straighter.

"We had a phone tip this afternoon from a man named..." He looks at the paper again.

"Would it be Finn Hudson?" Rachel asks.

"Finn Hudson," Mr. Israel confirms, looking back up curiously.

"Finn. Poor Finn. I am so sorry. Finn is nothing but a disgruntled former employee. And I apologize. But we know you're incredibly busy with a room full of gardeners and delivery boys to tend to." My mouth drops open and the creepy immigration guy glares at her. "If you just give us our next step, we will be out of your hair and on our way." She stands, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt.

"Miss Berry, please." The guy motions for her to sit again. She feigns a smile and sinks back down into the chair. He leans forward and clasps his hands. I press my back into the chair, growing uneasy. "Let me explain to you the process that's about to unfold. Step one will be a scheduled interview. I'll put you each in a room, and I'll ask you every little question that a real couple would know about each other.

"Step two, I dig deeper. I look at your phone records, I talk to your neighbors, I interview your co-workers. If your answers don't match up at every point, you will be deported indefinitely."

He looks at me, smug smile in place. "And you, young woman, will have committed a felony punishable by a fine of $250K, and a stay of five years in federal prison. So, Quinn. You wanna... you want to talk to me?"

Rachel chuckles, swatting at my arm and shaking her head. "She has nothing to say."

The frizzy haired guy's attention remains on me. I shift in my chair. I shake my head in the negative.

"No?"

I pause, swallow, and nod.

"Yes?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed at me. "Quinn, baby."

"The truth is... Mr. Israel, the truth is..." I turn to face Rachel, patting her hand. "Rachel and I... are just two people who weren't supposed to fall in love. But did."

She grins and puts her hand over mine, nodding along with my explanation.

"We couldn't tell anyone we work with because of my big promotion that I had coming up."

"Promotion?" Mr. Israel asks.

"Yeah."

"Your?" Rachel asks, skeptical.

"We, we both felt that it would be deeply inappropriate if I were to be promoted to editor," I continue.

"Editor," the brunette repeats. I can hear the sarcasm in her voice.

"Have the two of you told your parents about your secret love?" He asks. I frown; it sounded like he was mocking us.

"Oh, I... impossible. My parents are dead," Rachel says. "No brothers or sisters either. Gone."

"Are your parents dead?" He asks me, rolling his eyes.

"No, hers are very much alive," Rachel butts in.

"No, very much," I confirm.

"Very much. They're... Well, we were gonna tell them this weekend. Gammy's 90th birthday, and the whole family's coming together." I stare at her. _Crazy dragon lady say what now?_ Since when had she ever listened to anything I said? "We thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"Where is this surprise gonna take place?"

"At Quinn's parents' house."

"And where is that located again?" He smirks.

"Oh, why am I doing all the talking?" She laughs and rubs my shoulder. "It's your parents' house, sweetie. Why don't you tell him where it is. Jump in."

I pull my gaze away from the hand on my upper arm. "Sitka."

"Sitka." She chirps.

"Alaska."

"Alaska-aaa." Her head flies in my direction in disbelief. I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.

"You're gonna go to Alaska this weekend?" Immigration guy asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"Yes, yes," she echoes, letting her hand drop away from me. "We are going to Alaska. Alaska, that's where... that's where my little... that's where my Quinn's from."

"Okay. Fine. I see how this is gonna go." He restacks the papers and straightens them on the desk. "I will see you both at 11:00 Monday morning for your scheduled interview, and your answers better match up on every account."

"Thank you," Rachel says, and moves to the door.

"Looking forward to this," Mr. Israel says, winking. Seriously, how creepy can you get?

"We're looking forward to it, too. Thank you."

"Yeah," I say.

"Gonna be fun. I'll be checking up on you." And we've reached another level of weirdness.

"You got it," I say, nearly pushing Rachel out the door.

We make our way out of the building and onto the sidewalk.

"Okay... so, what's gonna happen is we will go up there. We'll pretend we're dating, tell your parents we're engaged. Use the miles for the tickets. I guess I will pop for you to fly first class. But make sure you use the miles."

I stop in my tracks and watch her go on for a few more steps, babbling about airplane fees and meals.

"If we don't get the miles, we're not doing it. Please confirm the vegan meal. 'Cause last time they gave it to a vegetarian, and they forced me to eat this clammy, warm, creamy salad thing, which was..."

She finally notices I'm not at her side and backtracks. "Hey, I'm... Why aren't you taking notes?"

"I'm sorry, were you not in that room?" I snap.

"What? What?" She replies, furrowing her brow. "The thing you said about being promoted? Genius! Genius. He completely fell for it."

"I was serious. I'm looking at a $250,000 fine and five years in jail," I said. "That changes things."

"Promote you to editor? No, no way."

"Then I quit, and you're screwed." I start to walk off. "Bye-bye, Rachel."

"Quinn!"

"It really has been a slice of heaven."

"Quinn, _Quinn_! Fine, fine. I'll make you editor. Fine," she says. "If you do the Alaska weekend and the immigration interview, I will make you editor. Happy?"

I retrace my steps so I'm standing a foot away from her. "And not in two years. Right away."

"Fine."

"And you'll publish my manuscript."

She narrows her eyes. "Ten thousand copy first—"

"Twenty thousand copies, first run." When she nods, I continue. "We'll tell my family about our engagement when I want and how I want."

She huffs at me. "Fine."

"Now, ask me nicely."

"'Ask you nicely' what?"

I smirk. "Ask me nicely to marry you, Rachel."

"What does that mean?"

"You heard me. On your knee."

She glares at me. "Fine." She takes my hand and lowers herself to the ground, kneeling on the dirty city streets. "Does this work for you?"

"Oh, I like this. Yeah." I chuckle.

She sighs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Will you marry me?"

"No." She groans. "Say it like you mean it."

"Quinn?"

I smile. "Yes, Rachel?"

"Sweet Quinn?"

"I'm listening."

"Would you please, with cherries on top, marry me?"

I pretend to mull it over. "Okay. I don't appreciate the sarcasm, but I'll do it. See you at the airport tomorrow."

"Good," she says, and reaches out for a hand, which I don't offer this time. As I walk away, I look behind me, catching sight of her struggling to get up in a tight skirt and three inch stilettos. I shake my head and chuckle. _That_ is my fiancée, of all people. At least she's pretty. Even if you hated her guts, you had to admit, she was gorgeous.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! They've been great.**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**. **

_Previously:_

"_Quinn?"_

_I smile. "Yes, Rachel?"_

"_Sweet Quinn?"_

"_I'm listening."_

"_Would you please, with cherries on top, marry me?"_

_I pretend to mull it over. "Okay. I don't appreciate the sarcasm, but I'll do it. See you at the airport tomorrow."_

"_Good," she says, and reaches out for a hand, which I don't offer this time. As I walk away, I look behind me, catching sight of her struggling to get up in a tight skirt and three inch stilettos. I shake my head and chuckle. That is my fiancée, of all people. At least she's pretty. Even if you hated her guts, you had to admit, she was gorgeous._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Have you ever flown on a twenty hour flight with your boss? Hold on, let me rephrase that. Have you ever been forced into flying with your new fiancée (who you would much rather _push_ off the plane than sit next to) back home to surprise your family and potentially give your 90-year-old Gammy a heart attack with news of an engagement to a dragon lady?

Yeah, it's a new experience for me, too.

We're an hour into the flight before she snaps at me for shifting in my seat so much. I shrug and decide maybe it'd be better to try and get some sleep with one of those cheap pillows they give you. I am thankful for being pushed up to first class, though, because it makes reclining that much easier. Honestly, they gotta give a person more leg room on a plane. I prefer not having strangers in my lap, but that could just be me.

Getting some shut-eye works for maybe five minutes before she's hitting the call button multiple times. I can hear it _ping_-ing above my head and groan. Finally someone comes over and asks her what the problem is, and it turns out, she's just hungry. So while they go to get her vegan meal, I order cup after cup of wine, thinking maybe I can drink myself into sleep, or at least relax a bit.

When we hit the five hour mark, she has pulled out some manuscripts and is in her own world. I snap my fingers a few times to test it, and she doesn't even spare me a glance. I slouch down in the seat, trying to get comfortable. When Rachel gets into those mindsets, nothing can pull her out of it, which means this is my sleeping window—and I'm taking it.

As I finally settle into the least uncomfortable position, I let my eyes sag. The last thing I see is the brunette, slightly hunched over sheets of paper with a red pen in hand. Red, because black is indistinguishable from the font and blue is for people who don't take editing seriously—the bunch of wannabes. She's worrying her lip as she rotates the pen in her hand, and I find myself wetting my own, before everything fades out.

* * *

When I wake up, the window has been shut and a blanket placed over me. I snuggle further into it, before realizing that my head is no longer on the pillow, which is clutched against my chest. I lift my head slowly, and my eyes widen when I look up to see I have squirmed my way against Rachel in my sleep. She's going to kill me for falling asleep on her. I'm actually going to die. Glancing down at my watch, I see that I've slept away most of the flight, and that there's about two hours left. I've been asleep on her shoulder for possibly the past ten hours if not more—I'm dead for sure.

I look out of the corner of my eye in Rachel's direction, and there's a spot of drool on her shirt. I instinctively wipe the corner of my mouth, cringing. I'm sure I look horrified, like that chick's face when she finally realizes her roommate is a psychotic, murderous killer in _The Roommate_. Yeah, I don't even care how repetitive that is. That's how mortified I am.

I sit up ramrod straight and glance over at Rachel only to find she's already staring at me, for god knows how long now. Clearing my throat, I manage to croak out an apology.

"Sorry for, uhm, y'know…"

"It's fine. You look exhausted."

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

She nods once and looks out the window.

I wait for a punch in the arm or at least a reprimanded ramble of words, but nothing happens.

She just keeps on looking out the window with the same ole disinterest. No anger.

I shrug. Maybe the married life is turning her into a big softy.

Chuckling quietly to myself, I change the subject to something I meant to bring up hours ago, before I took possibly the longest, most glorious nap I'd ever had.

"So, these are the questions that INS is gonna ask us," I say, pulling out a big binder that I'd put together the previous night. I better get overtime for this work. Seriously, though, I'd spent most of the night packing and preparing a faux interrogation, which is why I got no sleep. "Now, the good news is I know everything about you."

She narrows her eyes at me and snorts, like she doesn't believe I could possibly know that much about her. I roll my eyes and continue.

"But the bad news is that you have four days to learn all this about me. So, you should, y'know, probably get studying."

I pass her the binder and she begins to leaf through it, groaning at the length. "You know all the answers to these questions about me?"

"Scary, isn't it?"

"A little bit."

She squints at the page, and makes a little _aha _noise, looking up to challenge me. "What am I allergic to?"

"Pine nuts." I pause and glance at her. "And the full spectrum of human emotion."

Rachel blinks and turns to me, insulted, before she notices my small smile. Something in her features softens, but she remains sarcastic. "Oh, that's... that was funny."

She goes back to the binder and I shrug, leaning back against the seat and closing my eyes. A minute later she speaks up again. "Here's a good one. Do I have any scars?"

I shake my head. "I'm pretty sure that you have a tattoo."

"Oh, you're pretty sure?" There's amusement in her voice, and for a minute I wonder if she's flirting with me. No, it must be the cheap airport wine going to my head.

I open my eyes anyway, deciding she's not going to stop talking until I've convinced her that I know her better than she knows herself. Leaning on our shared armrest, I smirk before explaining. "I'm pretty sure. Two years ago, your dermatologist called and asked about a Q-switched laser. I googled a Q-switched laser and found that they, in fact, do remove tattoos."

There's a faint blush creeping up her neck from the collar of her blouse, and I can't tell if it's embarrassment from the amount of detail I've used or our close proximity.

I tilt my head to the side and raise an eyebrow when she doesn't say anything. "But you cancelled your appointment. So what is it? Tribal ink?"

She scowls.

"Japanese calligraphy? Barbed wire?"

Rachel huffs and resettles into her seat. "You know, it's exciting for me to experience you like this."

"Thank you." I grin, not letting up. I've stumbled upon something. "You're gonna have to tell me where it is."

"I'm not."

"They're gonna ask."

"We're done with that question, okay?" She hands me back the binder with a glare. "We're done."

I tap my finger against the binder, wondering what just happened. I mean, I know the boss is a private person, but come on. You've gotta give your fake fiancée _something_ to run with. "On to another question. Let me see, let me see."

I come across one of the simple questions. "Oh, here's one. Whose place do we stay at, yours or mine?"

"That's easy. Mine." She doesn't even think about it.

My brow furrows. "And why wouldn't we stay at mine?"

"Because I live at Central Park West. And you probably live at some squalid little studio apartment with stacks of yellowed Penguin Classics."

Well. Tell me how you really feel.

Before I can say some clever retort, like point out they're not Penguin Classics but a collection of creepy dolls or something equally disturbing, the 'fasten seatbelt' light flickers on, with that annoyingly calm _be-boop,_ and the pilot's voice comes over the air.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We are beginning our descent into Juneau."_

Rachel nudges me. "Juneau? I thought we were going to Sitka."

I hum in confirmation. "We are."

"Well, how are we getting to Sitka?"

* * *

"We're going to die," Rachel says, squished between me and some guy who keeps snoring. "We are going to die."

I snort. "We're not going to die." She looks unconvinced, and it hits me. "Oh my god. You're afraid of flying."

"What? No. That's ridiculous, Quinn."

"Is it?"

She glares at me. "Iam not afraid of _flying_. No." She waves her hands around her. "But this is not _flying_. There's a huge hen behind us, the plane is constantly shaking and hitting bumps, it is far too crowded, and," she lowers her voice, "I saw a _goat_ getting on."

"Yeah, actually, I hate to make this worse for you, but there are two goats. And that's a rooster behind us, not a hen. Hence the size."

She glares at me and I throw my hands up in apology. "How was I supposed to know you've never flown anything other than first-class?"

"We're going to die," she repeats.

I sigh. "Relax. We land in an hour."

"I think the chicken just got sick."

* * *

"All right. Here we go," I mutter to myself for mental encouragement as I step off the tiny plane. Thank god all that is over. I almost thought I was going to have to get some tranquilizers—for the boss, not the goats.

Once I'm stepping off the ladder, I catch sight of my mother and Gammy, who are pointing and scoping out every passenger. Mom looks thinner and a bit older, while Gammy still looks seventy—short, plump, and sparkling with the energy of a five year old.

"Where? Oh, there she is!"

"Quinn!"

I grin and rush forward to hug them. "Hi!"

"It's so good to see you!" Gammy says, trapping me in a surprisingly strong embrace. Man, I really need to visit home more often.

"You're suffocating her, Annie," Mum complains, and waves me in for a hug after I'm released. "Come here."

"Hey, Gammy. How are you doing?" She's too excited and happy to answer, so I turn to my mother. "Where's Dad?"

She hesitates. "Oh, you know your father. He's always working. Never mind about him."

Gammy scans the crowd. "Where's your girl?"

I turn, finding Rachel struggling with her bags and sigh. "She's... right there. There she is."

"I guess the word 'girl' is inappropriate," Gammy says. I stifle a laugh.

"Annie!" Mum protests, just as the boss makes it over to us. "Hi!"

"Hello," Rachel responds, slightly taken back by my mother's enthusiasm and warmth.

I smile softly. "Rachel, this is my mum."

"Hello," she extends a hand to shake just as Mum goes in for a hug, and there's an awkward dance thing.

"This is my gammy, Annie."

"Pleasure," Rachel says, holding out her hand again. Man, I should have told her my family is big on hugs.

"Well, hello there," Gammy says. "Now, do you prefer being called Rachel or Satan's Mistress? We've heard it both ways. Actually we've heard it lots of ways."

She starts laughing and I feel my face heat up. Gammy's humor is definitely…unique, and it takes a while to get used to. Rachel's at a loss for words. "She's kidding," I say.

"Okay," the boss replies, forcing a smile. "Thank you so much for... allowing me to be a part of this weekend."

"Oh, you're welcome. We're thrilled to have you," Mum says, flashing a brilliant smile. "Let's get you two back to the fort."

"Okay," we both respond.

"It's so good to see you," Gammy says again when I wrap an arm around her shoulders. I nod and smile. It's been much, much too long.

We head over to the parking lot and I throw the boss's bags into the back of the truck (at this point, I'm sort of convinced her bags contain several corpses, because they're so incredibly heavy). I slip into the back seat beside Rachel, and we take the scenic route through town. Looks like Mum wants to hit all the stops.

As we roll through the old main street, I hear my name being whispered. I ignore it, not wanting to deal with her right now. It's the part of town that has my last name plastered on practically every shop, courtesy of my father and his business.

"_Quinn!_" She reaches over and not-so-subtly smacks me in the arm.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Please, don't do that."

"You didn't tell me about all the family businesses, honey," the boss whispers. There's some malice in her voice, but I can't tell if it's jealousy or sarcasm.

"She was probably just being modest, dear," Mum says. Rachel blushes, not expecting to be heard. Yup, childhood was a bitch. Ears like a bat that woman has.

We pull into the harbor parking lot and head over to the docks.

"What are we doing? Shouldn't we check into our hotel right now?" Rachel asks.

"Oh, we cancelled your reservation," Mum says, and Rachel's eyes widen. "Family doesn't stay at a hotel. You're gonna stay in our home." She claps her hands and smiles.

"Oh, great! Great." She says awkwardly turns to me and nearly growls. "What?"

I shrug and follow them to the ladder. As I look back, I see the boss struggling to maneuver her luggage across the pebbled road.

"You're gonna wanna use your legs to lift that one," I call out.

"Quinn! Help her with those," Mum scolds me.

"I'd love to," I drawl, "but she won't let me do anything. She insists on doing it all herself. She's one of those... she's a feminist." I pause and add, "Come on, sweetie."

"You see the shoes that broad was wearing?" Gammy asks my mother as they get on the boat.

I snort before taking the boss's purse and throwing it down to Mum. "This is the last of 'em."

It hits the deck and with an unfortunate bounce, lands in the water with a splash. Rachel gasps and I cringe as my mother fishes it out.

Gammy laughs and calls out, "Five second rule!"

"Got it! Got it." She places it on a seat in the sun. "That will dry right off."

The boss isn't convinced, and I climb down the ladder to join them on the boat. When I turn around, Rachel is still at the top, swaying in place.

"I'm not getting on that boat."

Wait, so she's afraid of planes and _boats_? No wonder she lives in New York City. You can get anywhere walking. Although, with her choice in footwear, she probably doesn't even to that.

I smirk. "You don't have to. See you in a few days."

"You know I can't swim."

Oh right, I'd forgotten about that. I gestured to the motorboat. "Hence, the boat. Come on."

She glares at me but starts backing down the ladder.

Inch by inch.

That sick rooster could move faster than her at this point.

"Come on. Here we go." I drawl out. "Looking good, boss. Take your time, though."

"She comes with a lot of baggage," Gammy notes. I chuckle. She has no idea.

The boss is just a few feet from the dock, so I reach out to help her. She is now in reach, so I can let her know I've got her and there's no way she's going to fall. "Just gonna give you a little hand here."

She freezes. "Hand off ass! Off ass!"

I back away, hands in the air. "There you go. You're there."

Her foot is swinging around, tapping the edge of the deck.

When she faces me, I smirk. "Congratulations. I'm a hundred years old now."

She huffs and pushes past me to the boat, strapping on a ridiculous orange life jacket. I see Gammy roll her eyes when Rachel sits down next to her at the back of the boat, and start up the boat to head onto the island.

* * *

"Here we are. We're home," I say, cutting the engine.

"_That_ is your home?" Rachel gapes. She lowers her voice a bit. "Who are you people?"

Gammy looks at me for an explanation and I shrug. Like I know why she does weird shit.

"Why did you tell me you were poor?" Rachel asks, suddenly at my side.

I look her over. "I never said I was poor."

"But you never told me you were rich," she argues.

"I'm not rich. My parents are rich."

She sighs. "Okay, you know what? That's something only rich people say."

Before I can respond, an old neighbor shouts out, "Hey, Quinn! Welcome home!"

"Hi!" Looking up at the lawn, I see there are tons of people roaming the place. "Mum, what is this?"

She looks sheepish. "Nothing. It's just a little welcoming party. Is that a crime?"

I groan.

"Just 50 of our closest friends and neighbors. And all excited to meet you," Gammy adds.

"Oh, good. Good," I say. Great, more people to put on a charade in front of. Maybe they won't even notice Rachel.

"Come on. Come on!" Mum says, rushing off the dock.

"A party?" Rachel asks incredulously.

"Yeah, I guess so." I sigh. "Come on. Let's go. My grandma's moving faster than you."

She throws me a dirty look.

"Put your back into it."

"So nice to meet you, Rachel. Welcome to Sitka."

"Jill?" Rachel asks, trying to keep track of all the names. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

"Our pleasure," I say, and my twice-removed cousin scurries back into the crowd.

Rachel pulls me down an empty hallway and into the bathroom. She locks the door and looks me over, narrowing her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were some kind of Alaskan Kennedy?"

I snort. "How could I? We were in the middle of talking about you for the last three years."

The boss runs a hand through her hair, clearly not amused with my humor right now. I can tell by the way she's pacing (even though this is a tiny bathroom, she still finds room to pace) that she's frustrated and about to plunge into a rant. "Okay, know what? Timeout, okay? This bickering Bickerson thing has to stop. People need to think we're in love. So let's—"

"That's no problem. I can do that," I interrupt. I can pretend to be the doting fiancée. That's easy. But for you, it's gonna require that you stop snacking on children while they dream."

She glares at me. "Very funny. When are you going to tell them we're engaged?"

"I'll pick the right moment." I say, and open the door to step out. The enclosed space was making me clausterphobic, and I really don't need the boss rushing me on unveiling the "big" news. In fact, it's her fault we're in this situation.

"Hey, Quinn. Hi!"

I look up to find our family friend waving at me like a crazy lady and smile. "Mrs. McKittrick. How are you?"

"Nice to see you."

"Nice to see you, Mr. McKittrick," I glance behind me and see the boss hovering at my side. "This is Rachel."

"Hi. Pleasure." And we're hand shaking again. Man, I really have to find time to tell her we Alaskans are huggers.

"So I always wanted to know, what does a book editor do?" Mrs. McKittrick asks.

And just like a creepy thriller movie, a tall lanky figure with a balding head steps out of a dark corner to add into the conversation. "That's a great question, Louise. I'm curious to know the answer myself."

"Hello, Dad." I raise an eyebrow, not happy about his timing.

"Quinn." He takes in the boss. "This must be Rachie."

"Rachel," she corrects.

"Joe. Pleasure to meet you." He holds out his hand. Y'know, those two could actually get along.

She smiles. "Pleasure's mine."

"So why don't you tell us exactly what a book editor does," Dad prods. "Besides taking writers out to lunch and getting bombed."

Mrs. McKittrick laughs. "Now that sounds like fun. No wonder you like being an editor."

"No, Louise. Quinn's not an editor, she's an editor's assistant. Rachie here is the editor."

"Rachel," she corrects again.

"So you're actually..." Mr. McKittrick trails off.

"Quinn's boss. Yeah."

"Well. How about that." The McKittricks exchange a glance.

And cue awkward moment. I glare at my father, fuming.

"I think I'll get a refill," Rachel says, sensing the tension in the air. The McKittricks are quick to follow.

"That's a hell of a first impression, Dad," I spit out.

"What the hell, Quinn?" Of course he's going to turn it on me. Why do I expect any different? "You show up after all this time with this woman you hated, now she's your girlfriend?"

"We just got here. Can we wait two seconds before we throw the kitchen sink at each other?"

He shrugs. "Just never figured you for a girl who slept her way to the middle."

I note that he says middle and not top. It figures. He has never taken my career seriously. I puff out my chest a little, trying to stand taller. "I'll have you know that that woman in there is one of the most respected editors."

"She's your meal ticket, and you brought her to meet your mother."

_Are you fucking kidding me? _"No, no, no, no, no. She's not my meal ticket, Dad. She's my fiancée."

I don't mean to say it, or break the news this way, but I can't take it back now nor do I want to. The look on his face is priceless. It wiped the smugness right off.

"What'd you say?"

I step towards him. "You heard me. I'm getting married."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**. **

**A/N: Thanks again for all the positive feedback! I mean, I love this movie, so making it even better seems impossible to me, but I'm glad people are loving it.**

_Previously:_

"_She's not my meal ticket, Dad. She's my fiancée."_

_I don't mean to say it, or break the news this way, but I can't take it back now nor do I want to. The look on his face is priceless. It wiped the smugness right off._

"_What'd you say?"_

_I step towards him. "You heard me. I'm getting married."_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

I turn on my heel and storm out of the narrow hallway, into the large living room—on my way there, I nearly knock over a couple waiters and their serving trays, but luckily they seem to have more balance skills than I do—and find a number of people are gathered there. A few of them try to say hello, but I brush past them until I reach the fireplace. My mother raises an eyebrow, silently asking me what happened. I really don't feel like talking about Dad, so I reach over and pluck the wine glass out of her hand instead, taking a large gulp before flicking the glass to call everyone to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have a very important announcement to make," I call out. "Rachel and I are getting married."

The crowd starts murmuring at once, and I can't find Rachel in it. Figures. She nags me to tell everyone and once I do, she's freaking MIA.

My father leans in the doorway, looking pissed as usual, and I try not to see Mom and Gammy's reactions, which I'm sure are a mix of shock and betrayal. "Yep. Honey? Where you at?"

"_Here she is,"_ someone says at the back of the room.

Sure enough, she's inching around the corner, looking like she's about to walk into the lion's den. Honestly, I don't blame her. I try to smile and beckon for her to join me. "Come on down here, pumpkin."

"All right," she says, maneuvering through the packed room. "Okay."

"_Oh, look at her. Look at her." _The crowd adores. I guess she does look pretty gorgeous in that elegant grey dress. It really brings out her cocoa eyes.

"Right there, ladies and gentlemen," I say, and take her hand and raise it, spinning her around once. She doesn't look amused. "There she is."

"_Congratulations, Quinn."_ I hear from a million different places.

"Thank you." I respond, and smile at Rachel, giving her hand a squeeze because she still seems a little nervous. "Thank you very much."

"_Time to celebrate."_

"_Let's get the champagne."_

She leans over to me so that she's whispering in my ear. "So that was your idea of the perfect time to tell them we're engaged?"

I shrug, trying to hide the shiver that her breath causes.

"'Cause it was brilliant timing." She pulls back and rolls her eyes.

Before I can come up with a snarky response, I hear my name being called by a familiar voice. Honestly, it's like a ghost has blipped its way onto my radar, and I face it slowly.

She's as stunning as I remember her, if not more so.

"Hey, Quinn." She gives me a half wave and a smirk.

"Oh, God," I say, unsure of how to approach this situation. It figures. I'm fumbling for words, and I remember Rachel's presence when she places her hand on my arm, although I'm unable to look back at her. I'm in some sort of trance, like when you see two cars making a beeline for each other but just can't seem to look away from the inevitable ugliness of a crash. Except, of course, she's far from ugly. She's my… (I finish the thought aloud, realizing I've been gaping for the past minute) "this is my ex..."

Santana raises her eyebrow, amused with her ability to render me incoherent even after all these years. What? It's not my fault she looks incredible in the sweeping red dress she decided to dawn at my homecoming party.

She turns to Rachel with the same smug look. "Hi. I'm Santana."

Rachel's eyes widen, and she is suddenly too cheery, tightening her grip on my arm and moving closer so she's practically hugging it. If I knew better, I'd think she was jealous. "Oh, wow. Wow!"

"You can call me San," she continues. "I've also been known as Satan, but that's just when I keeps it real."

"Oh." The boss doesn't know what to do with this information, so she just nods enthusiastically.

"Well," San drawls, "congratulations, you guys."

"Thank you," we both say at the same time, and exchange a glance before blushing slightly.

Santana looks between us. "So did I miss the story?"

I nod, then furrow my brow. "What story?"

"About how you proposed," she clarifies.

"Who said I proposed?" I ask.

She shoots me a look. "You're gonna tell me shorty here did it?"

"Her name is Rachel," I growl. Rachel taps my arm in a warning, and I try to relax. "And fine, I did propose."

"Shocker." Santana says. "So, the story?"

"Oh! How someone proposes says a lot about her character," Gammy butts in.

I turn to her, looking incredulous. _Okay, who said you were allowed in this conversation, Gammy? Love you to death, but no. There is no way I'm doing this. Not in front of my ex or father, for that matter._

"Yes, it does," San says, smiling sweetly at Gammy for the support.

"I actually would love to hear the story, Quinn," Mom adds. _Oh goodie, you're in on this too. _"Would you tell us?"

And then the crowd is all in too, throwing out prods and jeers while Rachel and I shake our heads. Because hello, _hell no_. That's just not happening. The boss likes her privacy, and I don't kiss and tell. Er, not that there was any. Kissing, I mean.

"_Yeah!"_

"_Tell us!"_

"_Come on, Quinn!"_

Finally, I throw my hands up. They're bloodthirsty, Alaskans are. You'd never guess so. They quiet down, grinning at their win.

I however, take a step back and lean on the couch arm. "You know what? Actually, Rachel loves telling this story, so I'm just gonna let her go ahead and do that. 'Cause I think we should just sit in rapture."

She's put on the spot and I can tell I'm going to pay for it later, even though she can't exactly glare at me with all the attention on us.

"Wow, okay," she says, laughing nervously. "Wow, where to begin this story."

"Well..." She pauses and rubs her hands together, shifting on her feet, trying to buy time. _Come on, you've read dozens of stories. You can come up with a simple romance pitch_, I think.

"Wow. Yeah. Okay, well..." A light bulb goes off and her eyes light up. She locks eyes with me, smiling softly. I sit up straighter. "Quinn and I... Quinn and I were about to celebrate our first anniversary together. And I knew that she'd been itching to ask me to marry her."

"And she was scared."I arched my eyebrow. _Really? "_Like a little tiny little bird. I started leaving her hints here and there because I knew she wouldn't have the guts to ask, but—"

"That's not exactly how it happened."

She smirks. "No?"

"No. No." I reply, and turn to address the guests. "I mean, I picked up on all her hints. This woman's about as subtle as a gun."

The crowd chuckles.

"Yeah," I smile. "What I was worried about was that she might find this little box—"

Rachel claps her hands. "Oh! The decoupage box that she made, where she'd taken the time to cut out tiny, _little _pictures of herself. Yes."

A couple people _aww_ and I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes. Because, okay, does that even sound like something someone would do, _me_ no less? But they're all buying it. So there goes my reputation. Bye, bye.

"Just pasted all over the box. So beautiful," she continues, placing a hand over her heart. "So I opened that beautiful, little decoupage and out fluttered these tiny, little hand-cut heart confettis.

"And once they cleared, I looked down, and I saw the most beautiful…big..."

"Fat nothing," I finish, and there's a collective gasp. I nod. "No ring."

"No ring?" Mom says, frowning.

"What?" Gammy asks.

"No. But inside that box," I glance at the boss, "underneath all that _crap_, there was a little handwritten note with the address to a hotel, date, and time."

I pause. "Real Humphrey Bogart-type stuff. Mysterious." An old high school friend, Puck, gives me a thumbs up from the back row and I wink at him. "Anyway, naturally, Rachel thought—"

"I thought she was seeing someone else."

"What?" Mom asks, looking at me with accusing eyes, and I put my hands up innocently.

Rachel nods, and swallows back emotion at a fake memory. Man, she should have pursued acting or something. "Yeah, it was a terrible time for me, but I went to that hotel anyway. I went there and I pounded on the door, but the door was already unlocked.

"And as I swung open that door, there she was—"

"Standing."

"—kneeling." She sniffles. "On a bed of rose petals, in a _beautiful _blue dress."

My mother and Gammy look like they're seeing me for the first time, and Santana is failing at stifling a laugh at my expense.

Rachel continues, smiling with watery eyes at my family. "Your daughter. Your daughter."

Could this get any worse?

"And she was choking back soft, soft sobs. And when she held back the tears and finally caught her breath, she said to me—"

"'Rachel, will you marry me?' And she said, 'Yep.' The end. Who's hungry?" I wrap up quickly, before Rachel can further out me as a hopeless, dramatic, overemotional romantic.

Seriously, how do chicks get that sappy? And it's not like Rachel hasn't been exposed to great romance. She practically works with it every day. But, if the smirk on her face is any indication, she pulled all the bullshit she came across in crappy manuscripts and spun it into one large tale of—

"That is quite a story, Quinn," Mom says.

I shrug, trying to appear indifferent to the fact that my heart is now painfully stitched on my sleeve, thanks to a certain short brunette.

"Oh, Quinnie," Santana teases, fluttering her eyelashes and putting her hand up to her forehead, and pretends to swoon. I roll my eyes.

"You are so sensitive," Gammy says. "Hand-cut confetti?"

"Yeah, well, you know me," I deadpan.

"Hey! Let's see a kiss from you two cuties," Puck calls out. "Give her a kiss!"

Who is the idiot that invited him, again?

"No. Come on," I say, feigning shyness.

"Oh, yeah!" Puck says. "Come on!"

Then the crowd is on his side, jeering us for a kiss.

"Okay, all right!" I shout over everyone, and turn to Rachel, taking her hand. "Okay. Here we go. Ready?" I bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss it.

"What is this? Kiss her on the mouth like you mean it," Puck says.

"_Kiss her. Kiss her!"_

"_Kiss her!"_

"_Kiss her! Kiss her!"_

"_Kiss her! Kiss her!"_

"Okay!" I can tell there's no stopping the bunch of pervs. "Okay. All right."

"Okay," Rachel says, biting her lip and looking up at me.

"Here we go," I mutter, more to myself.

She nods. "Okay."

I lean down a bit and she meets me halfway, and we both pull apart as soon as our lips touch, making a ridiculous _mm-wah_ sound.

"Quinn! Give her a real kiss!"

I blush. "Gammy."

"A real one!" She yells.

"_Yeah!"_

"_You can do it!"_

"Just do it? Let's do it really fast," Rachel murmurs.

I sigh. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay." She tilts her head a little, and shifts her gaze to my lips. I wet them unconsciously and close the gap between us. There, I pause, counting out a second.

_One-Mississippi._

_Huh, she has really soft lips for a dragon lady._

_Two-Missi—_

I feel her mouth start to move around my lower lip, and I find myself responding to the slight pressure before I can even think about it. The kiss is still pretty chaste—it's barely more than our previous kiss, just longer, and softer, and I think the realization of this, of the, of the fact it's not completely _awful_, shocks us both out of our world.

Well, that and the applause.

She pulls away first, gently releasing my bottom lip, and her brow furrows as she tries to figure out what had just happened. I'm in the same boat, unable to tear my eyes away from hers, which are shining in a way I've never noticed before.

Then Gammy is in both of our arms, squishing her head between our chests. "I'm so happy for you two!"

She pulls back to smile at us, which we manage to return, before she buries herself again. "So happy! So happy!"

"Let's get the champagne!" Puck shouts over the cheers.

When I look back up, Santana catches my attention from across the room, raising her glass in a toast, looking satisfied. But I'm too off-kilter to figure out what the hell she wants.

* * *

"So here we are," Mom says, gesturing to the large room. "This is your bedroom."

"Wow. Wow, this is beautiful." The boss looks out the glass door and over the deck, where the sky is a pastel of oranges and pinks—it's about to transition from setting to rising. Against the purple Alaskan mountains, it's quite picaresque. She reaches a hand out to tap the window. "And the view."

She has lost herself in the landscape, kinda like when she edits well-written manuscripts. And not surprisingly, I find myself losing focus on everything but her.

Ever since the kiss, things have been a little weird between us. We're more aware of our closeness and rather than shifting away when she breaks through my personal space bubble, I find myself thinking about throwing an arm around her shoulders, wrapping an arm around her waist, or placing a hand on the small of her back. Anything that would give us some kind of contact.

The thing is, I can't tell if she's in the same boat, or if she's just playing the role of a fiancée for once.

"And here's the bed," Gammy says, winking. She shakes us both out of our reveries, and I nudge her, shaking my head.

"Wow! Exquisite bed. Exquisite," Rachel responds before pausing. "So. Where is Quinn's room?"

My mother laughs. "Oh, sweetie, we're not under any illusions that you two don't sleep in the same bed."

I snort. _Well, actually…_

"She'll sleep in here with you."

"Oh, great, 'cause we love to snuggle," Rachel says. Where does she come up with this stuff? Do I seriously look like a _snuggler?_ She loops an arm in mine, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Don't we, honey?"

"We're huge snugglers." I deadpan, but entwine our fingers.

There's a scatter of paws slipping on hardwood floor, before a little white snowstorm barrels its way into the room, jumping on Rachel, who almost jumps on me. "Oh, my God. What is it?" She exclaims, swatting at her legs like it's some kind of demon.

I roll my eyes and lean down to pick up the puppy.

"Calm down, Kevin," Mom scolds.

"You are cute," I coo as it licks and squirms in my arms. "Who is this?"

"That's Kevin. I'm sorry, Rachel."

"So cute," I say, baby talking to it. This is the softest and whitest and adorablest puppy I've ever come across. Where have they been hiding it? I may just dog-nap it and bring it back to NYC with us. I mean, with _me_.

"We just rescued him from the pound, and he's still in training. Sorry," Mom apologizes again.

"Just be sure you don't let him outside, or the eagles'll snatch him," Gammy says.

"No, don't you listen to her," I murmur, playing with his flappy ears. "She's just pulling your leg, isn't she?"

Rachel looks less horrified than she did before, so I put him back on the ground, and he goes bounding to Gammy.

"By the way, there are extra towels and linens and things in here if you need them." Mom points out a linen closet.

"If you get chilly tonight use this," Gammy says, handing Rachel an old quilt. "It has special powers."

Oh, no. I recognize that blanket. _Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask._

"Oh, what kind of special powers?"

_Great move, Rachel._

"I call it the _Baby Maker_," Gammy says, winking.

Rachel looks mortified, but to her credit, keeps a hold on the quilt."Okay, well. Then I guess we...uh,gonna be super careful with that one."

I take it from her. "Yeah, I'm gonna..."

"Don't throw it on the bed," she says, low enough for only me to hear. I chuckle. Yeah, no. Not using that one, trust me.

"Gammy, I don't think it'll really work with us…"

She shushes me. "Another time, then. When you're looking to get—"

"Gammy!" Mom interrupts, and Rachel and I turn a deep shade of crimson, avoiding eye contact and stepping apart a bit.

I clear my throat when Gammy is finally done laughing at us. "Well, we'd better turn in. It's been quite an evening."

"Oh, alright. Good night!" Mom and Gammy say, and move towards the door.

"Good night," Rachel replies.

"Good night," Gammy says, inching out the room.

"Okay, good night, Gammy," I reply.

"Good night." They say again.

"Good night!" I reply.

"Thank you so much. Sweet dreams," Rachel says.

"Bye-bye, now," Gammy calls over her shoulder.

"Bye," we say.

We wait for the click of the door, before sighing. Finally. Day one, down. Two to go.

Rachel turns to me. "So, uhm, are we…" She trails off and motions to the bed.

I study her face, but it's unreadable. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Oh, you don't have to, I mean—"

"No, it's fine, Rachel. The bed is all yours." I pivot and head into the bathroom before she can protest. Because really, I think we both need some space to process today's events. I know that I need some space to remind myself that it's just a role—not that I _want_ it to be anything more. No, that'd be horrible. She'd just boss me around in the workplace _and_ the home. Who wants that for a life?

Not to mention, _she has no heart._

I brush my teeth and jump in for a quick shower before letting Rachel take the bathroom for her bedtime routine. I lay out the baby maker and snag an extra pillow and some more sheets before laying down by the end of the bed.

My eyes are just starting to close when Rachel speaks up.

"So, you haven't been home in a while."

_No shit, Sherlock. _"I haven't had a lot of vacation time the last three years."

She sighs. "Stop complaining."

Well, okay then. Don't ask, boss.

"Uhm, don't look, okay?"

I stare up at the ceiling. "Okay."

She hesitates. "Are your eyes closed?"

I continue to stare forward, eyes wide open. "Completely."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I deadpan.

She rushes out of the bathroom in a light pink, lacy silk set of sleep wear. I stifle a laugh. Really? That's what Rachel Berry wears to bed at night? Makes my old t-shirt and boxer shorts look sloppy. I roll my eyes. "Those are the pajamas you decided to bring to Alaska."

She huffs, getting settled in bed. "Yes, because I was supposed to be in a hotel _alone_. Remember?"

And we're back to bickering.

Good. Normalcy. It's a good thing, people.

"Can we just go to sleep?"

"Fine."

"Great."

It's quiet for a minute before there's a lot of rustling. _Come on_. If she's having a princess and the pea moment she better damn well get over it, because I'm sleeping on the _fucking _floor even though there's a huge ass bed that could hold four people.

"Well," she finally grumbles. "Looks like I won't be getting much sleep with the sun streaming in."

I point the remote to the walls and click a button. The shades fall into place, blocking out the incessant Alaskan summer sun. Hopefully that'd get her to keep quiet.

She clears her throat. "Thank you."

I sigh and roll on my side. Two more days, Fabray. Two more days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**. **

**A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews (especially the one from **Mrs and Mrs Berry-Fabray**), your words do not fall on deaf ears. **

**Love 'em. And all the follows! There are some author legends that I can't believe that have clicked that little 'follow' square (to name one: **daniethegirl**—seriously, if you haven't been reading **_Fake It Til We Make It__**, **_**drop everything now).**

**Also, this chapter is Rachel's point of view, as she hits town with the girls. Just a heads up.**

_Previously:_

_It's quiet for a minute before there's a lot of rustling. Come on. If she's having a princess and the pea moment she better damn well get over it, because I'm sleeping on the fucking floor even though there's a huge ass bed that could hold four people._

"_Well," she finally grumbles. "Looks like I won't be getting much sleep with the sun streaming in."_

_I point the remote to the walls and click a button. The shades fall into place, blocking out the incessant Alaskan summer sun. Hopefully that'd get her to keep quiet._

_She clears her throat. "Thank you."_

_I sigh and roll on my side. Two more days, Fabray. Two more days._

* * *

**Chapter Four (Rachel POV)*****

A high pitch beep cuts through my hazy sleep state, and once I realize which world is reality—the phone—I want to crawl back under the covers and stay there forever. Only, the bed I'm on is softer than mine, and the white duvet is not at all similar to my dark red comforter at home. The pillows smell different, too.

The phone stops pinging and I sigh, trying to fall back asleep. The sun is still peeking out from the corners of the weird shades and I have no idea what time it is.

I'm really beginning to hate Alaska.

My cell starts beeping again and I groan. This is technically a vacation, right? Why do I have to deal with work? Don't misunderstand me, I love my job. If I didn't, I wouldn't be conning the government with poor Quinn, or even indulging in the idea of marrying her—she has quite the reputation, you know. Still, there are some definite drawbacks to the job; for example, (early?) morning phone calls.

"Quinn. Phone," I call, out of habit.

No answer.

I start groping around the bedside tables and drawers. "Quinn!" The only thing I succeed in doing is knocking a few books onto the floor. The phone starts ringing again, and if someone's calling me _three_ times at a time I should be sleeping, I know it's important.

"Crap. Quinn, Quinn, phone." She's either an extremely heavy sleeper or she's ignoring me. "_Quinn!"_

"Yeah... right," she grumbles.

I growl. "Quinn, where is it?"

"Purse, side pocket," she replies, her voice husky from sleep. I shiver a little but focus on the task of finding my bag. I can just see the outline of it sitting on a chair beside the bed, and make a leap for it.

Instead, I fall halfway out of the bed, with less grace than I'd like to admit. My legs are very much tangled in the sheets and they get stuck, leaving half of my body hanging off the bed. I grunt and manage to reach far enough to snatch the phone and bring it to my ear before it reaches voicemail again.

"Hello," I answer. There's static on the line. "Hello?" This time I manage to catch tidbits of a voice, crackling in and out of the receiver, so I untangle myself, grabbing a robe to throw on. "Hello?"

"_Ms. Berry? It's Frank…"_

"Frank! Frank, darling." _Shit!_ I jump up, shouting into the phone so he can hear me. "Darling, Frank."

He says something else, but the reception is spotty again. "Are you there? Hello? Hello?" I pull the phone away from my ear to double check that the call is still in progress. It is. "Crap."

"I have horrible service, Frank," I say loudly, and begin to pull on some boots. "Give me just one minute!"

"Oh, my God! Rachel!" Quinn roars, sitting up to glare at me. The half-state of sleep she is in leaves her glare much less imitating and much more adorable, though. Not to mention her bed hair. She looks like a little lion cub. I shake my head and try to concentrate on the problem at hand.

I do lower my voice, though. "One... one minute. Frank, hold on just a second."

Once I've got both boots on, I rush out of the room and out of the house all together, stepping out onto the lawn.

"Frank, hold on."

"_Are you trying to get rid of me?"_

"No, no, no, no," I say. _Shit._ "Okay, what's wrong, Frank?"

"_I'm not doing Oprah. You bullied me into doing it! There's a reason I haven't done an interview in the past decade."_ Well, it's been a little more than a decade if we're being honest here, I think. You're a bit of a hermit, pal.

"_I'm awkward, okay? No one likes me, and I don't want to embarrass myself further. If I stay in, people see me as one of those troubled geniuses. I'm fine with being that person—"_

"Frank," I interrupt. "Frank, I'm sorry you feel I pressured you into doing Oprah, but—"

_"You're not even listening! You're going to make me miserable. Do you even want me to be happy?"_

"Of course I want you to be happy," I rebuke. You're the one who is ruining _my _happiness, Frank. All I wanted was a bit more sleep. Just a little more shut eye.

"_Then listen to me when I say I'm not doing Oprah. I've seen what happens. I've lived it. Do you understand me?"_

"Yes, yes I do."

"_No, no you don't. Look, I'm begging you. No, I'm not. I'm ordering you to drop the interview." _He pauses. _"Okay, that was harsh. Please, Ms. Berry, just cancel Oprah. How are people supposed to like me? I'm sitting next to a fucking goddess—really, people pray to her. People worship her. And me? I'm nobody. I'm a weirdo, freak, four-eyed loser who can't even catch a baseball. No one likes me. I'm going to go on there and I'll choke or trip or something terrible will happen and everyone will just laugh and laugh and—"_

"Frank. Frank. Frank, darling," I interrupt, before he starts hyperventilating. "Frank? It's going to be fine. I can just call them and I can cancel."

"_Yes! I'm better as the misunderstood artist. You're getting it now."_

"You are…" There's some barking behind me, and I turn to see that demon puppy prancing in dewy morning grass. I eye him wearily. "You are so right, Frank."

He begins talking again, but the white fluffball is inching towards me. I take a few steps back and he bounds towards me. I groan and start making gestures at the demon, trying to get him to stay or sit or go home or whatever else he's trained to do besides hate me.

"_Ms. Berry? Are you even listening to me?_

Freaking devil puppy."Yes, Frank, of course I'm listening to you."

"_Then you agree?"_

"Yeah... yes," I say. He's silent, and I know he is unconvinced. "I love listening to you, Frank."

The thing starts yipping at me again. "Sit. Sit," I hiss.

"_Excuse me?"_

"No, not you, Frank." The dog is still dancing around me, and I briskly walk a few paces before stopping. It doesn't follow me, but starts chasing around a butterfly.

"_What…?"_

I decide to just change the subject. "Frank, if I may get down to it, okay, I think it would be a mistake to back out." I hear a hawk screech. "Because, Frank, for so many years, you have inspired me with your beautiful words, and I feel that..."

The puppy starts barking, so I hiss at it to be quiet. "Dog, I'm on the phone."

It doesn't listen to me.

Like doggy like owner, I suppose.

Where was I? Right. Beautiful words. "I think it's time the world gets to enjoy your words as well. They are just so rich with passion and I think that we should all be privy to..."

The hawk screams again, and this time I see it circling above me. Wasn't there something about hawks? Or was that eagles? Is that thing a hawk or an eagle? Is there even a difference?

"And... Frank, I just..."

It starts to circle lower and lower and suddenly it's making a dive for the demon fluffball.

"I just want you to be happy, Frank!" I rush out, sprinting to the puppy, which is just being snatched up. _Well, fuck._

"Give me that dog!" I yell at the eagle, willing it to be as afraid of me as my employees. It doesn't work. "And I need, Frank, for you to hold on just a second. Can you hold a second?"

"Give me that dog!" I shout again. They're both out of reach now. "Come on! Come on, come on, come on." I _cannot_ lose my Gammy-in-law's dog, in the first twenty-four hours, no less. They're going to think I did it on purpose!

And Quinn! Shit, Quinn's going to hate me. She's never going to forgive me. "Come on!" I say again, and chuck my phone at the bird without thinking.

Miraculously, it works. The hawk lets go.

But there's still one tiny problem.

I have to catch a little dog before it hits the ground and splats a pancake.

No pressure, Rachel.

God, these are the times I wish I played sports. Tripping over my big rain boots, I just manage to scramble into place and catch him before he can flatten out as skykill.

"Okay! Okay, gotcha." I tuck him under my arm, taking a deep breath. Okay, now for the phone. It's lying a few feet away and I bend down to pick it up. "Frank, Frank. Frank? So sorry, so sorry."

"_What happened?"_

"So sorry. I dropped the phone." That was believable, right? Minus my heaving breaths and the adrenaline now coursing through my bloodstream. But it's over now. And the demon dog is safe. I wasn't going to get killed by my in-laws.

Right. Time for business. Time to reign it in and show why I'm the boss. Why I'm _Rachel Barbara Berry_ and don't you forget it.

"Now, listen, Frank. I don't want to sell you on anything, but this is your legacy, this book."

The eagle cries out again, and I spin around to find it headed for me.

_For Christ's sake. _

"And I think it's up to you to present your legacy to the world…"

The hawk is not slowing down. Why won't it slow down?

"And call me tomorrow with your decision…"

I start sprinting, dog jiggling against my hip. "And my phone is on all the time!"

Then it's swooping down, talons extended, and I duck for my life, throwing my hand over my head. "Okay, bye-bye."

Next thing I know it's gone, along with my phone. How it managed to snatch a _cell phone _from my _hand_ but wasn't able to keep a hold on a dog with too much fur, I don't understand.

"No! Wait!"

Frank's gonna hate me. He's never going to trust me again. I'm going to lose his deal, and that'll be just the beginning of my end.

"No! No! No. No," I mutter to myself, chasing after it. It squawks back at me in victory.

The dog squirms in my arm and I look down at it, getting an idea.

"Take the doggy!" I say, and wave the puppy around in the air, trying to get the eagle's attention. "Look at the doggy. I need that phone. Take the dog."

I know I'm whining pathetically but I really can't help it. It's not like anyone is around to watch, anyway. "Take the dog. I need that phone! Here. Take the dog."

The hawk is gone by now but I'm so frustrated that I don't stop. It could come back. And if I don't keep the dog up, it won't know and I'll lose my chance. And I've gotta keep the dog up so the eagle can…smell it? Do birds smell?

"Take the dog. Take the dog. Take it. Take it."

I stop spinning around and just hold the dog above me like Simba during the _Circle of Life_. It's rather fitting, if you think about it. "Look! Give me my phone. Come on."

"Please, just give me my phone," I plead. "Come on. Right here."

I'm ready to just sink into the ground and never get back up. I'm ruined. The eagle knew what would be worse—it tricked me. I'd rather be slaughtered out here by my in-laws than go back to New York without Frank's interview. Think about it, at least my death in this sorry-excuse for a town would give Stephen King his next novel. It'd be the perfect way for an editor to go out.

God, I really hate Alaska.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I jump a little at the voice. Quinn is walking towards me, her hands tucked into an old sweatshirt's pockets. Her hair is still a glorious mess and I don't think I've actually noticed how blonde it is before. I attribute it to the bright sunlight.

I gesture towards the house. "Oh, my God. Your grandmother was completely right. The eagle came and tried to take the dog." Quinn stops in front of me, raising her eyebrow. I hesitate, slightly distracted by her, but manage to finish the story. "But then I saved him. Then it came back, and it took my phone."

I finally put the demon dog down and it runs back into the house, leaving Quinn looking at me for a moment like I'm crazy. Traitor.

"Are you drunk?" She finally asks.

"What? No! I'm serious." I look back up at the sky, daring the eagle to come now. "He's got my phone, and Frank's calling me on it—"

"Relax, all right? We'll order another phone, same number," Quinn says. "We'll go into town and get it."

I take a deep breath and try to calm down. "Really?"

"Yeah. Okay?" She asks, and I nod.

"Oh, okay. All right." I nod again, convincing myself that everything is going to be fine. This blonde, shining in the stupid Alaskan sun, is my savior.

"Well, you can go then," she says, nodding towards the house. "You have to get ready."

I'm going somewhere? "For what?"

"Going out with Mom and the girls," she says, shrugging.

"I don't wanna go," I complain. "Why aren't you coming?"

"Puck wants to take me out on a pre-bachelorette party, 'because even though Rachel is smoking hot, it's depressing to commit to sleeping with one person for the rest of your life.' So apparently I need one last party."

I furrow my brow for a moment, eyes narrowing at her. She puts her hands up innocently. "His words, not mine."

"Fine. What are _the_ _girls_ doing, then?"

"Shopping, sightseeing. And a surprise."

"I hate shopping. I hate sightseeing," I mutter.

"You'll love it. You're going." She sighs, stepping closer to me.

My breath hitches. "I don't wanna go. I'm not."

"You're going," she says, and starts to pull me into a bear hug. "You are. Give me a hug. Don't want them to think we're fighting."

I push at her, annoyed. "I don't want to touch you. No, I..."

"Come on. Hug time." Her arms tighten around me, and I can't exactly say I hate it. "Hug time."

"I don't wanna... Quinn." I sigh and give up. Surrender to the warmth. It feels like she just got out of bed. Or rather, I just got back in bed. I close my eyes at the contact, enjoying the softness of her worn hoodie.

"There we go. Yeah, that's nice," she murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into my back. I take a deep breath and notice she smells like citrus. "Yeah. That's nice. There we go." I'm not really sure who is talking anymore; it could very well be me.

Her hands start traveling lower and lower until one of them starts patting my butt. I open my eyes and huff. I can feel her smirking. "Isn't that nice?"

"Yeah," I say, over sweetly. "If you touch my ass one more time, I will cut off all of your lovely, blonde hair in your sleep. Okay?"

"Yeah," she says, pulling back and looking slightly pale.

"There you go. Alrighty now." I reach up to cup her cheek. "So we clear on that?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"Yeah," I repeat, smirking, and pat her cheek a few times before heading into the house. "Such a good fiancée."

* * *

"Yeah, I hope you are ready for your big surprise," Judy says, "because this is one of Sitka's greatest treasures."

"Right?" Santana says, chuckling. I still don't understand why she's here. She should be with Puck and Quinn, out celebrating. To be honest, I think she's still interested in Quinn.

"Oh, yes. Oh, yeah." I respond when I notice them all staring at me, and laugh along.

I hate surprises. Which Quinn is very aware of.

I don't understand why she's putting me through all of this.

We stop outside a restaurant on the waterfront, which looks like a large shack. Judy turns to me, beaming. "Okay, this is the big surprise I was telling you about. You ready?"

"Oh, Rachel, you're gonna love it!" Gammy says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Sam's the only exotic dancer on the island. But we're lucky to have him."

Suddenly my flight instinct is kicking in. 'Exotic dancer' in a small town can only be a nice way of saying…

"Work it, Sam!"

…stripper.

There's a blonde guy on the stage, currently ripping off a tux, leaving the bowtie and a very small pair of boxers on. He starts flexing his biceps and rocking his body to the beat of "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

_Relax, don't do it, when you want to, go do it / Relax, don't do it, when you want to come…_

It's blaring through the speakers and there's a spotlight centered on Sam.

"Wow," I say, unsure of if there's a word that can accurately describe what I'm feeling right now.

Anxious? Shocked? Mortified?

This is why I don't do surprises.

Quinn's family and Santana drag me to the table in the front row, giggling and cheering Sam, who is enjoying every moment of his tease, even if most of the place is flocked with older women.

And I don't mean cougar-old.

"Over here, Sam! Over here," Gammy says, and tucks a few dollar bills into his boxers. He bounds back on stage when she smacks his ass, placing a chair in the middle.

Santana whips a bridal veil out from god knows where, and sticks it on my head before I can protest. My eyes widen in realization of just what she plans to do. "Santana, no—"

"Over here, honey," she calls out to Sam, winking at me. "Show her what she's gonna be missing."

He catches sight of me and immediately stops his ab rolling, patting the chair instead with a crooked smile. "Come, my sexy princess."

"Yeah!" Judy says, pushing me to the stage.

"Oh, no. Not necessary," I say. Okay, where's the exit? "It's a really nice gesture, but I really need to just..."

"Go on, Rachel. Get up there!" Gammy shouts.

"Come dance," Sam says rather than asks, not leaving room for argument.

The crowd is going crazy and Sam is starting to move towards me and I'd really rather not be dragged up there with all of his nakedness, so I stand.

"Okay," I say, and begin to mutter. "Pluck my eyes out. Okay. All right. Here we go."

"Go, Rachel! Go, Rachel!"

He smirks at me and motions to sit in the chair, which I do. "Hey."

Wow, he has enormous lips. "Hey—" He swings a leg up and around me so that his butt is in front of my face. "Oh," I squeak.

"Give it to her, Sam!" I hear Judy say. Oh, please God, no. "Go on, Sam! Give it to her!"

"That's a move I haven't seen." Gammy says, cocking her head to the side.

Santana is doubled over, shaking with laughter. "Look at her face!"

After he finishes a dance routine, he stands by me, pivoting between a pelvic thrust and jutting his ass towards me. I look towards Quinn's family for help, and Gammy makes a smacking motion.

"I don't want to touch it." I mumble. "I don't wanna... No." I look up at him with pleading eyes. "Very sweet." _Now let me go._

"Smack him!" What is it with this woman and smacking? She's _ninety! _

"I'm sorry?" I say innocently.

"Smack his ass."

I roll my eyes. "Smack it, of course. Okay."

"Smack him, Rachel!"

"Rachel, give it to him!"

I cringe and count to three before slapping his ass. Quinn owes me big.

"Yeah!"

"Can I get down now?" I ask, praying to the heavens that that was the end.

They nod, still laughing uncontrollably. I thank them and say I need another drink, but really I just need some air. I grab my cup of shrimp and head out the side door, where there's a deck overlooking the pier.

I glance from my cup to the ocean below me and fling the shrimp into it. "Free. Be free."

I'm not even there for a full minute before someone bursts through the door and stands next to me.

"Hey! There you are," Santana says. "How are you holding up?"

I smile at her, wishing she would just let me be. I get it, she's meant to be with Quinn. Just let me be free. "Oh, fine. Fine. Just working on my tan."

She chuckles, turning to gaze over the harbor. "Yeah, the Fabrays can be a bit overwhelming at times."

I snort. Someone's good at understatements. "Yes, yes."

She hums. "It's a little different than New York, huh?"

Completely. I can't believe Quinn even grew up here. She's such a city girl.

Still, I play nice to the Alaskan. Especially this one. She kind of scares me. "Little bit. Little bit. You ever been?"

"No," she says, pressing her lips together. "That was always Quinn's dream, not mine."

I glance over at her. "You guys were pretty serious, huh?"

She shrugs. "Well, I mean, we dated in high school and all through college, but we were kids."

Wow. That's a long time. No wonder there's still some tension. "And you guys called it off because of...?"

"Well." She turns to me and sighs. "I shouldn't even be telling you this. Quinn will kill me. Besides, it's her story to tell."

"But you were involved in the story too," I point out, curiosity getting the better of me. "And it's in the past, right?"

Santana nods. "Still, just…don't tell her I told you, okay?"

I nod, and she turns back to the blue waters. "The night before we graduated school...she proposed and said she wanted to elope and run away to New York with me."

I furrow my brow. Quinn, a hopeless romantic? Maybe I wasn't too far off with that proposal story. "And...You said no?" I fill in.

"And I said 'no,' yeah." Her eyes are kind of watery, but I think it's more out of nostalgia than regret. "I've never been anywhere but here. This is home."

She loses herself for a moment before shaking herself out of her thoughts and patting my arm. "But anyway... you're a lucky girl. She really is the best, which you obviously already know."

"Oh, yep." I smile, nodding. "Yep, very much so, yeah."

"Well, cheers to you guys." She raises her bottle and I hold up my empty plastic cup in return.

"Thank you."

With a swig, she looks back in the restaurant's direction. "Looks like Sam's wrappin' it up." She gives me a wave and a wink before heading back inside. "Go, Annie!"

I rest my elbows on the deck railing, closing my eyes against the light breeze.

What am I doing here?

Quinn and Santana…they have so much history. They spent practically half of their lives together. Me being here will just mess that up. I was joking when I asked Quinn if she had been saving herself for someone special, but I'm starting to think she actually had a plan, or at least a fantasy.

I'm the worst boss in the world.

Scratch that. I'm just a terrible person in general. Finn was right about that.

I should just turn myself in. But at this point, I'm in too deep.

* * *

"I've never seen him so..." Judy trails off, still high off of the _exotic _dancing. If you know what I mean.

"No, he really got down," Gammy says.

"He's wonderful." I add in, before Judy gasps and I look up to follow her gaze.

"Oh, no," she murmurs. "Quinn! Quinn, honey, is everything okay?"

Her daughter doesn't answer, instead continuing to hack at a misshaped log. She's all sweaty, and if her current state of butchering a defenseless piece of wood is any indication, something has pissed her off.

I've never seen her like this before.

But it's…hot.

Wait, what?

"Quinn!" Judy calls again, before rushing to the house.

I turn to Gammy. "What... What's she doing?"

She shakes her head and takes my arm. "Something's up. It's best to leave her alone."

When we get to the porch, Gammy excuses herself to take a walk along the beach. I promise to let Judy know, and step into the front room.

Well, I thought it was the front room. Now, it's just a minefield of screaming.

"Why is Quinn out there hollowing out that old stupid canoe again?" Judy asks, furious. I don't think I've ever seen her without a smile, and now that I have, it makes me a little upset.

"Well, maybe she's planning to escape," Russell says, shrugging. "What?"

"I am so tired." Judy whispers.

I clear my throat and both turn to me. "Think I'm gonna go upstairs, take a shower, wash off Sam's coconut body oil."

I chuckle and Judy tries to smile. "Sure."

"Gammy's out for a walk. I, uh, had a great day today. Thank you."

She nods, and I take that as my cue to leave. I get as far as the bottom of the stairs before they resume their argument, and I hesitate by the stairs.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, I mean…" Russell sighs. "I just had a frank conversation with her about her future."

Judy laughs without humor. "Well, yeah. That's a good idea. That's a good idea, _Russell_, because she will never come back home now."

The dog scampers into the kitchen and yips at me. I glare at him, and point to the window, trying to indicate that next time _I will feed him to the eagles_. He perks his ears, hushing up. I stick out my tongue.

"She is my daughter. I only get to see her once every three years because of you. Because of you. I've had enough!" Judy exclaims. "You are gonna be supportive of her marrying Rachel, and that is that."

There's a pause, which I assume is a staring match, before Judy continues. "You know, if we're not careful, we are gonna end up in this great big house, just you and me alone, you and me and everything that we're angry about. And God forbid that they should have a grandchild that we never get to see!" She huffs.

"You are going to fix this, Russell. I mean it. Fix it now." I hear footsteps and hurry up the stairs before they see me hovering.

What? Is it a crime to want to know more about my future wife?

I didn't think so.

* * *

***Side note: **Areen28** asked why there's a male stripper. Good question. Rachel could be bi. I mean, Santana's there too. But Sam's the only exotic dancer in town and they're fond of him, kinda like that stray cat in your neighborhood, y'know? So it's more of a pride of the town-joke thing than actual stripper.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**. **

**A/N: Thanks again to all the reviews & follows & favorites! (And to all you loyal, write-every-chapter reviewers—yeah, you know I mean you **Mmisery **and **gllover22**).**

_Previously: _

_There's a pause, which I assume is a staring match, before Judy continues. "You know, if we're not careful, we are gonna end up in this great big house, just you and me alone, you and me and everything that we're angry about. And God forbid that they should have a grandchild that we never get to see!" She huffs._

"_You are going to fix this, Russell. I mean it. Fix it now." I hear footsteps and hurry up the stairs before they see me hovering. _

_What? Is it a crime to want to know more about my future wife?_

_I didn't think so._

* * *

**Chapter Five (Quinn POV) [PS this starts right after the Rachel/dog incident from last chapter]**

After handling Rachel's crazy with Kevin and the eagle, I start searching for my father. I finally spot him in the back yard, playing around with some golf clubs.

This better not be some fucking business deal. I really can't handle that right now. I just want to go out with Puck and get away from it all for a little bit.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask, stopping a few feet away from my father. If Mom hadn't looked so upset, I wouldn't have even come. But she was on the verge of begging and, well, let's just say I have a soft side. The only one I wouldn't mind seeing begging is Rachel.

Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. Sheesh.

"Your mom found these eco-balls," he says, taking a swing. A few hundred feet away floats a little green island with a putting green. The ball falls short. "They dissolve in water. I don't know how she comes up with this stuff." He chuckles and takes another drive.

Miss, again.

Not to fill a stereotype, but I bet I could golf better than he can.

He sighs and leans on the club, looking up at me. "Anyway, she is a little peeved. Apparently, I wasn't the most gracious of hosts last night."

I snort and raise my eyebrow. _Yeah, try _asshole_, Pops._

"It was a little bit of a shock to find out that you're getting _married_, especially when none of us even knew you were dating," he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

I shrug.

"The point is... I owe you an apology." He extends a hand.

I eye him for a moment before shaking hands. "Accepted."

"There's something else."

_Of course there is._ I take out a club and start playing around with it.

"I've been going over my retirement plans recently, and it got me thinking," he says. "I've done a lot of things in my life. Practically built an empire with your mother from the ground up. It doesn't mean anything unless—"

"—you have someone to leave it to," I interrupt, frowning. "Yeah, we've already discussed this, Dad."

"I'd like to discuss it again," he retorts, raising his voice. "You have responsibilities here. I think I've been more than understanding about your goofing off in New York. I need you to quit playing around—"

_Goofing off? _Oh, hell no. No, no.

"Here we go again!" I shout, tossing the golf club to the side. "When are you going to start taking what I do seriously?"

"When you start acting seriously."

We size each other up for a moment, before I take a deep breath to calm myself.

"I'm sorry," I say, backing away. "I_ feel_ _sorry_ for you, Dad. I wish you had another kid. I really do. One who wanted to stay here. One who wanted to take over the business. One who wanted to marry someone that you approve of, but it's not me."

He looks down at the ground, slightly ashamed of what he's said. Good.

I pause. "Now, it must seem strange to you, my life in New York... sitting in an office, reading books. But it makes me happy. You understand?"

He fiddles with the club. "If that's what makes you happy, Quinnie, I got nothing to say."

"Well, that's a first." I say, laughing without humor. "You know what? Apology not accepted." I turn on my heel, walking back up the lawn to the house. "Have fun out here."

* * *

"Wow, what a dick."

"I know," I respond, stomping my way to the beach.

"Are you sure you don't want to just go get shit-faced?"

I shoot Puck a look and he shrugs.

"What? It's a guaranteed way to forget your problems. I'm just tryin' to help ya, lezbro."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I know. But with Rachel here, I can't exactly come back trashed."

"Why?" Then he smirks. "Oh my god, you're whipped. Who knew this day would come, when _the_ _Quinn Fabray_ let herself get leashed."

"Shut up," I grumble. "It's not like that."

"Oh yeah? Then come on. Get drunk with me."

"Look, I just can't, okay? Let's leave it at that." Things might get out of hand; alcohol has been known to make me do weird things. Not to mention, I don't think Rachel would really appreciate me coming back incapacitated.

Not that I care what she thinks…

He raises his hands in surrender. "Fine."

I take a seat at the end of our pier and Puck plops down next to me. We gaze over the waves for a bit before Puck pulls me into a side hug. I lean my head on his shoulder and sigh.

"What can I do?" he asks.

"I don't know. This." I gesture between us, referring to what he's doing now.

He nods. "Okay. Can I ask you something?"

"Fire away," I say.

"Is Rachel really the one? When I heard you were coming back, I thought it was for Santana."

I hesitate. "I've spent years trying to put San and this town behind me, Puck."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Well, what can I say? Maybe I have a few unresolved feelings for her, but I'm getting married to Rachel, so I don't exactly have a choice, do I?"

"There's always a choice. It's your life, Q."

I shrug off his arm and lean back. "Yeah, well, we don't all get fairy tale endings."

"Q…"

"No, maybe you've forgotten, but I haven't. I've already been down that road with Santana. I proposed, and she…she said no." I turn to face him. "Maybe that's something you can forget, but I can't just lock that little fact away somewhere and start from scratch. She made it clear that her life is here. Mine's in New York."

"But you guys could work things out."

"No," I say. "No, we couldn't."

"But—"

"Look, Puck," I interrupt, growing frustrated. "I get that no one here likes Rachel. You all think she's a bitch who doesn't give two shits about anyone. But she's the one, she's the one I'm marrying."

It feels weird, talking about Rachel this way. The weird part is that I expected it to feel like more of a chore to say stuff like that, that's she's the one and all, but it's not. Hard, I mean. I'm not saying I want to hitch my wagon to hers, but would it really be so awful to spend at least one night together? Out of curiosity, if anything.

I realize Puck is patiently waiting for me to continue, and I do. "Yes, maybe I have still some feelings for Santana. But she's my first love. You never really can leave your first love behind completely, can you? I mean, what about you and Zizes? You still think about her from time to time, don't you?"

He looks down and nods ever so slightly.

"So yeah, San and I have history. That's something I'll never forget. But Rachel is more than fleeting memories. She and I work, in a weird way, so I just need you and everyone else to get over yourselves—"

He lays a hand over mine, effectively ending my rant. "Quinn, it's okay. I support you in whatever you decide to do, even if it's signing off your life in marriage. I mean, why commit to one person?" He waggles his eyebrows and I can't help but smile a little. "I'm just doing my job as bro to make sure that she's the one. Bro code 57: A Bro never lets his bro get married to a mistake."

A pang of guilt hits me in the gut. I really should tell Puck that it's all just a sham. He's my bro, I know I can trust him. But there's a part of me that doesn't want to tell him, because once he knows it's a charade, there's no reason for him to be nice about anything. And with how guarded Rachel is, how she acts like she rides a broom and comes from the gates of hell, he'll be calling her all sorts of names for the rest of my time here.

And most of me doesn't want to hear it.

So instead, I turn to humor, raising my eyebrow at him skeptically. "Is that really part of the bro code?"

"Well, no," he says. "A bro never lets a bro get married, period. But with you, we can make an exception and just make it so at least you don't get your heart broken."

I smile. "Careful, Puck. Your heart is showing."

He gasps and jumps up, looking himself over. "Shit, where?"

I laugh and he grins.

I fall back against the dock, closing my eyes against the sunny sky. I hear Puck move to the beach and come back. When I crack open one eye, I see him skipping stones.

Sighing, I try to focus on the warm sun. Almost one more day. I could deal with Dad for that much longer, right?

Well, maybe I could just avoid him. I'll take Rachel into town tomorrow for her phone and we'll just… not come back until dinner. Then we'll do the big last dinner thing, excuse ourselves early, and hide out somewhere until we're good to go.

Right.

Yeah, that wasn't going to work. Mom would find us somehow. And then drag me by the ear, if that's what it took.

Ugh. I just don't understand why he can't accept that I'm not coming to take over his legacy. Yeah, congrats to him for accomplishing all that, but I've never shown an interest in his empire.

And goofing off? _Puh-lease._

If I was goofing off, I would be working in the mail room of some obscure publisher, living out on the street in a cardboard box. Instead, I'm about to be promoted as editor of one the most prestigious publishing companies in the country. How about that?

And, on top of that, my baby, my manuscript, is finally getting published.

So yeah, Pops, I've really been goofing off.

I sit up and huff.

"So, what now?" Puck asks.

"Now, I need to get rid of all this rage," I say, and start walking to the side of the house, "before I snap at someone."

Puck falls into step beside me. "The canoe?"

"The canoe."

* * *

My arms are throbbing, quivering even, at this point. Puck called it a day after an hour or two of watching me, saying the daylight was running out and he wasn't just gonna waste it—this, of course, is a classic joke among us Alaskans in the summer time. I mean, come on. We practically have sunlight 24/7.

Still, he told me to call him if anything else happened, but entrusted his faith in the fact that Rachel would be back later to "deal with my PMS-ing" (his words). Ha, if only he knew how wrong he was. Rachel probably won't even notice that I'm pissed.

After a few more hacks at the canoe, which at this point is completely destroyed, I step away and wipe sweat from my forehead. Tossing the carving tools into the hallow space of the log, I jog inside, deciding I better clean up before the rest of the family returns.

I don't bother taking out my earphones and head right up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, taking a towel from the linen closet before stepping out on the patio. There, I strip off my clothes, pausing to catch my breath and stretch out my muscles.

I do feel a little less stressed. But I'm sure that'll all return at dinner, when I'm forced into the same room as Dad.

Groaning, I step back into the room, fiddling with my iPod and heading to the shower.

Just as I'm pulling out my headphones, something smacks into me. There's a distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh, and I stumble back a little, wrapping my arms around the offending force.

As I attempt steady myself, I realize it's Rachel.

But not just any Rachel. No.

She's completely and utterly naked.

Against me—also naked.

My eyes widen as I whip my hands off her, and the sudden lack of support on my side immediately causes us to topple over. Since her arms are wrapped around me—the look of shock on her face gives me the impression that she is not fully processing this—I fall backwards and she lands on top of me.

Our gaze meets and we're frozen for a moment, unsure of how to approach what in hell just happened.

"What the…?" I finally shout, trying to make sense of _how the fuck_ I ended up in this situation.

"Oh!" She gasps, realizing that she's still on top of me, and pushes herself off, avoiding eye contact. "Why are you _naked_?"

"Oh, my God!" I say, rolling to the side to get up. I catch a glimpse of Rachel—_all_ of her—and force myself to look away and say the only thing I can think of. "Why are you _wet_?"

"Oh, my God," she groans, mortified, and scoots her way to the side of the bed, seeking cover. "Don't look at me!"

"I don't understand." I stand up, trying to cover what I can. "Why are you wet?"

"Why are you naked? Don't look at me!" She seems to notice I'm just standing there. "Oh, God! You're showing everything. Cover it up, for the love of God!"

This sets me into motion and I snatch another towel from the closet, quickly wrapping it around me. When I turn, I see her grabbing sheets off the bed to cover herself, and smirk when I see what she's currently using.

She looks down and realizes what she's holding and groans, whipping it across the room. "Oh, God, not the Baby Maker."

I roll my eyes.

She glares at me. "Explain yourself, please."

"Explain _myself_?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes, explain yourself."

I gesture to the door. "I was outside."

"Really? You didn't hear me?" she retorts.

"I was listening..." I start, but realize she's the one that should be explaining. "What are you doing home?"

"_Me?_"

"Then you just, _jump_ me out of nowhere? What's that about?"

"I didn't mean to jump you," she yells. "Your dog was attacking me, and I had to run, and I ran into you."

I stare at her. "What is it with you and this dog?"

She blushes. "Just, you know, just... go. Go."

"Fine," I say, huffing.

"Go take a shower." Then she adds, "you stink."

"Fine." I roll my eyes. "Nice tattoo, by the way."

Her eyes widen. "What?"

Before I can answer, Kevin comes scampering out of the bathroom, bolting out of the room. I look back at Rachel, amused.

"See? See? Exactly." She points at the door. "You see that?"

I feign horror. "Barely made it out with my life there. See the size of the teeth on that thing?"

"I didn't—" she protests, but I shut the door before she can finish.

* * *

I know dinner will be particularly uncomfortable, right from the start, which makes me take much longer in getting ready. Rachel actually has to come inform me that the food is on the table.

I flop back on the bed, groaning and covering my face with my hands. "Do I have to go? Can't you tell them I'm sick?"

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"Then, no." She sits down on the bed, looking down at me, and sighs. "Please don't make me go eat dinner with your parents alone."

"What, had enough of your in-laws already?" I say, chuckling.

She cracks a smile. "Maybe."

"Yeah, try living with them."

Rachel frowns. "Is it always so tense?"

"Well, no," I say, and prop myself up on my elbows. "Just lately."

"Oh," she says. "Why?"

I shrug and leave it at that.

She looks like she wants to ask more, but I reach out and put my hand over hers before she can. As I expected, it sidetracks her. The brunette furrows her brow. Then, she surprises us both by entwining our fingers and tugging at me to get up.

"Come on, Quinn. They're going to think we're having a quickie if I don't get you down there soon."

I make a gagging sound and she chuckles, dragging me all the way off the bed and down the stairs, until we reach the table, where she finally lets go of my hand.

I pull out the chair for her and sit in the one next to it, across from my Dad. I keep my eyes on the plate, but I can see my mother shoot a glare at him through my peripherals.

"Wow, did you cook all of this, Judy?" I hear Rachel ask, trying to break through the obvious tension in the room.

"Well, Russell helped out with the meat. He's good on the grill."

"Rachel's a vegan," I deadpan.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry. I had no idea," Mom says, grimacing.

Rachel smiles at her. "It's okay, I don't mind. There's plenty of other food at the table. It's not your fault that Quinn didn't say anything." She swats my arm playfully.

Mom laughs. "Well, that's Quinn for you. It's a pain to get anything out of her, which, I'm sure you must know already."

Rachel snorts. "Oh, yes. But I have my ways of making her talk."

I blush at the innuendo, even though it's not true. For all I know, she could have been referring to blackmail tactics. Like making me editor and my writing dreams. Not sex.

…she didn't mean sex, right?

Rachel's booming laugh brings me out of my clouded thoughts, and I tilt my head, watching her. I've never actually seen her laugh, now that I think about it.

But I like it.

And I want to be the one to make her laugh like that.

I'm surprised the thought pops up, but I'm not shocked. It's about time I confronted my blossoming feelings for this woman.

Maybe all that junk I said to Puck weren't completely lies.

Rachel seems to notice that I've been staring and glances at me, locking eyes and smiling ever so slightly. I feel myself return the smile, and hers widens just a bit.

A throat is cleared and our heads snap forward, a little embarrassed at the private moment. Mom looks amused and Dad is stabbing at the meat on his plate. I return to pushing around the food on my plate. I see Mom nudge Dad.

"So, how are you liking Alaska?" he asks Rachel.

"Oh, it's definitely a different world from New York," Rachel says. "But it's…beautiful. It's really beautiful."

He nods, glancing between us. "Have you two talked about, you know, your future at all?"

Rachel gazes at me. "Uhm, we—"

"Where you'll be living? Where you'll raise a family?" He fires off, and I clench my fork in my hand, seeing what he's getting at. "You know, if you decide to have kids."

"Well," Rachel says, "we haven't talked that much about children, but I think it's a possibility."

"Great," Mom says, beaming. "I can't wait!"

Rachel blushes, looking down at her lap. "Yeah."

"So are you gonna raise them in New York? The city isn't that safe for kids."

"Dad," I warn.

"And Alaska, like you said, is beautiful," he continues. "Quinn here didn't turn out too bad, eh?" He chuckles but no one joins in. Even Mom looks uncomfortable, and a bit frustrated.

My shoulders tense and I ball up my fists under the table. "We haven't talked about that far in the future, Dad. And plenty of kids grow up in the city fine. In fact, some may say they have an advantage, learning to live more independently than someone in a small town. They're more open-minded. More cultured."

Rachel is looking at me, concerned at the anger that is building up in my rant. She seems to understand that this argument is about more than a city and a village.

"That's true, Quinn," Dad says. "But cities are also where the most kidnappings happen. And I'd hate to take that risk when you have the option of living here. With your family. The kids could actually grow up knowing their _grandparents_."

"Sure. Or we could _visit_."

He narrows his eyes. "Why subject them to annual visits? That seems a little unfair."

"_Ugh!_" I erupt. "Look, you don't get to sit there and instruct me on how to raise _my _family. You don't get to mandate where I live. You don't get to dictate my career. You don't—"

Rachel slides a hand onto my thigh. It catches me off guard and I forget what I was saying, opening and closing my mouth without actually being able to continue talking. When she starts tracing little circles, I lose all coherence, nearly closing my eyes at the feeling. There are tingles, tingles everywhere, and the warmth of her hand on my leg is suddenly the only anchor I have.

The brunette gives me a small smile before addressing my parents.

"I'm sorry," she says, sheepishly. "I think what Quinn means to say, is that we still have a lot to discuss about our future. While Alaska is breathtaking, I don't think…" She looks back at me. "I don't think we'll be considering it as a home until we have a family. We both have serious jobs in New York, jobs that we love and have worked extremely hard to secure, and it would be reckless to just give them up.

"That being said, we will definitely consider moving here once our careers are no longer our first priorities." She chuckles. "I'm sure that'll happen once we have a little, gurgling baby in our arms, right, sweetie?"

She gives my thigh a gentle squeeze and I shiver. "Uhm, yeah."

"We'd love nothing more than to have you two involved in our children's lives," she concludes.

Mom is in tears and Dad looks a little less on edge. I smile at them, before looking back at Rachel. How the hell did she manage to smooth that over?

She cocks her head at me curiously, and I realize I've been staring. Again. I blush and look down at my plate, wondering when I lost all self-control. Under the table, she slips her hand into mine. I squeeze hers once, in gratitude.

* * *

Surprisingly, it hasn't been all that awkward since the naked encounter.

Well, until now.

We're both lying in bed—well, me on the floor—and it's obvious neither of us are asleep. In fact, we haven't really said a word to each other since dinner.

The silence is making me uncomfortable, so I say the first thing on my mind. "So…so_ naked_."

I hear her groan. "Can we not talk about that, please?"

"Just sayin'." I shrug.

There's a pause before she clears her throat and speaks up. "So, what's the deal with you and your father?"

I clench my jaw. "I'm sorry. That question is not in the binder."

She snorts. "Oh, really? Well, I thought you were the one that said we needed to learn all this—"

"Not about that, I didn't."

"But if the guy asks—" she protests.

"Not about that, Rachel," I repeat. "Good night."

The fire crackles, and I sigh.

"I like the Psychic Network."

I furrow my brow in confusion. "What?"

"Not in the '_ha-ha, isn't that funny, she likes that trash_' kind of way. I actually quite enjoy it."

I can hear a smile in her voice. And it's nice.

"I took disco lessons in the sixth grade," she continues. "My first concert was Rob Base & D.J. E-Z Rock."

I have no idea where this is going, but for once, I don't mind. I find myself wanting to know more.

And she doesn't disappoint. "I think Dianna Agron is sexy. Don't like flowers in the house, 'cause they remind me of funerals. Never played a video game. I read _The Importance of Being Earnest_ every Christmas. It's my favorite."

She hesitates before continuing. "Haven't slept with anyone in over a year and a half.

And..." She takes a deep breath. "I went to the bathroom and cried after Finn called me a poisonous bitch."

I frown. Yeah, I shoulda beat that guy's face in when I had the chance.

"And the bird tattoo? They're swallows. Got them when I was sixteen... after my fathers died. It's stupid."

_It's not stupid_, I want to say, but don't.

She clears her throat again. "I'm sure there's many, many other things, but that's all I can come up with right now."

I glance over in her direction, even if I can't see her. I can't tell if she only told me all of that because she wants to know what happened between me and my father, or if she has no ulterior motive. Either way, she opened up to me, which couldn't have been easy for her to do.

Especially about the swallow tattoo.

I feel a little bad about teasing her on the plane, now.

"Uh, you there?"

I nod, before realizing she can't see me. "I'm here. Just processing." I'm not sure what to say, so I go to my default setting: humor. "You really haven't slept with anyone in eighteen months?"

She groans. "Oh, my God. Out of all that, that's all you got?"

I shrug. "That's a long time."

"Yeah, well, I've been a little busy," she replies.

"Yeah," I say. So have I, but I mean, you make it work. "Who's, uh... Rob Base and D. J..."

"E-Z Rock?"

"Yeah."

"You know," she says, and starts to sing. "_It takes two to make a thing go ri-ight_, _it takes two to make it outta sight…dun-nuh-nah._"

I don't answer, but have to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.

"No? They were good."

I can't help it anymore and burst out laughing.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"Nothing," I say. "I know who they are. I just wanted to hear you sing it."

"Oh," she replies, chuckling.

I pause. "Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"Don't take this the wrong way."

"Okay," she says nervously.

"You are a very, very beautiful woman."

She's quiet, so I start rapping. "_I wanna rock right now, I'm Rob Base and I came to get down. I'm not internationally known, but I'm known to rock a microphone."_

When she starts singing along, I burst into the chorus in a ridiculously high, goofy voice. "_It takes two to make a thing go ri-ight!"_

Rachel starts giggling—_giggling —_so I keep it up, grinning. "_It takes two to make it outta sight!"_

"_Dun-nah-nah_," she adds for a beat.

"_It takes two to make a thing go ri-ight!"_

"_Feel it deep, feel it low," she raps._

I nod. "_It takes two to make it outta—"_

My voice cracks out before I can hit the high note, and I chuckle while she starts laughing again. "God, I can't sing that high."

It takes us a while to calm back down, and even then, I can't get the smile off my face.

Then it hits me. I don't just like her.

I'm falling in love with her, with my fiancée.

_Fuck._


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**.**

**A/N: Sorry this one's pretty short, but I'll make up for it next chapter. Thanks again for all the follows, favorites, and reviews!**

_Previously:_

_My voice cracks out before I can hit the high note, and I chuckle while she starts laughing again. "God, I can't sing that high."_

_It takes us a while to calm back down, and even then, I can't get the smile off my face._

_Then it hits me. I don't just like her._

_I'm falling in love with her, with my fiancée._

_Fuck._

* * *

**Chapter Six (Rachel POV)**

I jolt upright in bed, hair flying in front on my face. I blink a couple times, looking around and muttering. "Huh? Where am I?"

Boarded windows. Dark room. Huge bed.

Oh right, Alaska. Stupid, godforsaken Alaska.

I groan. _What time is it? _Glancing around at the wall, I can't believe there isn't a clock in the room. Seriously, who doesn't have clocks? I look over at the bedside table and notice a digital clock and reach over to check it. _What time is it? _Oh, only eight. It's still early. I let out a breath and lean back into the pillows.

Then I catch sight of myself in a mirror. "Oh, God."

I'm a twin image of the grudge right now. A little bit of mascara that I'd missed is smudged and there are pillow marks all over my face. I frown, and start lightly slapping at my cheeks to make them flushed so they'd hopefully cover up the marks.

What if Quinn saw me like this?

I freeze. Shit, Quinn's in the room. I peek over the edge of the bed, and relax when I see she's still sound asleep, with her own mane of hair tousled up. Except mine looks like a bird nest while hers is the epitome of sex hair.

Oh, god. That's one image I shouldn't have conjured, for the sake of my own sanity.

I turn back to the bedside table, wiping at my eyes until they're less smudged and apply a light layer of lip gloss. When I've managed to somewhat tame my bed head, I tuck my hair around my shoulder and snuggle back into the pillows to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

Well, the universe made sure that wasn't going to happen.

There's two short knocks on the door, before Judy speaks up. I can hear Gammy laughing with her. "Room service. Breakfast for the happy couple!"

My eyes widen when I realize Quinn is still on the floor. I sit up and lean over the bed, hissing at her to get up. "Quinn! Quinn!"

She grumbles and rolls over.

"Quinn!"

Nothing. I reach behind me and grab a pillow, slinging it at her head. "_Quinn_!"

This works, and she picks her head up, attempting to glare at me.

I snap my fingers and point to the spot beside me, motioning for her to come. "Quinn, your mother's at the door. Get up!"

"_Oh, fuck_." I hear her mumble, and she jumps up, gathering the makeshift bed in her arms.

"Just a second!" I call out to Judy, remembering she's outside and probably wondering what's going on.

Quinn throws the blankets on top of our bed and slips in beside me.

"Oh, God," I say, grabbing one of the blankets to toss off the bed. "Not the baby blanket."

"Okay," she mutters to herself, still not fully awake, "all right."

The blanket gets caught on other sheets and I keep tugging. "Not the baby blanket. Get it off, get it off, get it off."

I finally get it free and throw it across the room. Quinn rolls her eyes at me.

There's another knock at the door.

"Wait a second. Hold on," Quinn says, then stares at me, furrowing her brow.

I raise my eyebrow. "What? What?"

"Are you wearing makeup?"

"What? No." I dip my head down so my hair hides my blush. "Of course not."

"Okay, what do we do?" she asks, sitting about three feet away from me and looking uncomfortable.

I roll my eyes and lay down on my side. "Just spoon me, spoon me..."

She scoots closer to me and suddenly I'm very aware of her body heat. Or maybe it's mine? Quinn presses her front into my back, and I feel her arms snake around my waist. One of them brushes my boob, and I sit up, gaping at her.

"Oh, my God! What was that?" _She just copped a feel!_

She looks at me pointedly. "I'm sorry. It's morning."

"What do you mean, _'It's morning?'_"

She gestures between us and at the bed, and I get it. Right, the morning after. I nod and lay back down against her, and we shuffle into weird positions, none of them feeling comfortable.

"Are you OK?" Judy calls, anxious.

"Coming. One second. Yep," I respond, trying to settle down.

"Come on in. Everything's fine," Quinn adds.

"You're on my hair," I whine, and she raises her arm so I can pull it out from under her. "Okay, just..."

The door opens and Gammy and Judy walk in beaming and carrying trays of steaming breakfast food. We stop fidgeting, and it's a surprisingly comfortable position, if only the awkwardness would go away. I'm leaning against Quinn's chest, her arm curled around my shoulder. I can feel her breathing under me, and the slow rise and fall is calming. At some point, our legs had tangled together. She takes my free hand in hers.

It's nice. It's warm. It's…

"Oh, wow," Quinn says, snapping me back to reality.

"Smells good," I add, smiling.

"Cinnamon rolls," she hums in appreciation.

"Oh, you shouldn't have gone to that trouble," I say.

Judy waves my comment off. "Oh, you're family now. It's no trouble."

"Hey, you have room for one more?" Russell strides in the room, stopping behind her.

I feel Quinn tense under me. "Wow. Could we not do the Brady family meeting right now? We just got up, if you don't mind."

"Mhm." I start drawing random patterns on her palm with my thumb.

He ignores us. "Your mother and I have come up with a proposition and I happen to think it's a terrific idea—"

Judy steps forward, bouncing on her feet in excitement. "We want you to get married here tomorrow!"

I nearly choke. "Tomorrow."

"What?" Quinn says, breathless. "No. We leave tomorrow."

"We'll buy you plane tickets for a day later," Russell counters.

"That's not necessary," Quinn replies, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Well, you're gonna get married anyway," Judy argues, "so why don't you get married here where we can be all together, and that way Grandma Annie can be a part of it."

"Oh," I say, slowly. "Oh, we're... no…"

"No," Quinn says, a little too firmly.

"No, it's Gammy's birthday tomorrow. Big day for her," I add. "We don't want to ruin it. That's, you know—"

"I've had 89 birthday parties, I don't need another one!" Gammy interrupts.

"Oh, Gammy," I say, wincing. _No no no, this is not happening._

"It would be a dream come true for me to see my one grandchild's wedding," she says, eyes sparkling. _Sparkling._ "A dream come true!"

"So you'll do it?" Judy asks us.

We both pause before shaking our heads in the negative.

"Before I'm dead?" Gammy deadpans.

I can't believe she played the death card!

"Okay," Quinn and I say in unison, giving her a thumbs up.

Well played, Gammy.

She smirks. The ninety year old woman _smirks_ at us.

That damn little old lady. I make a mental note to steer clear of her from now on.

"Okay, we will do everything," Judy says, clasping her hands together. "And you can get married like we did, in the barn."

"It's a Fabray family tradition," Russell adds, staring at Quinn. The blonde's grip around me tightens.

"Oh, wow!" I say, and look up at Quinn, trying to draw her attention away from her father. "Wow! I've always wanted to get married in a... in a barn."

She looks down at me, eyebrow quirked in amusement before agreeing. "I have."

"It's a sign!" Gammy yells. "A sign from the universe that you're meant to be together."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. You have no idea, Gammy.

"We must give thanks, I tell you," she says, walking out of the room. "Come, come. We must give thanks."

Russell starts walking out too, but Judy keeps standing at the end of our bed, grinning at us. It's making me a little uneasy. "Okay, I know I should leave you alone now…"

Quinn nods pointedly.

"But we're just so excited! I know you're excited, too."

"It's crazy," Quinn mumbles into my hair.

I smile. "Really excited."

Judy gives us a little wave before inching out of the room.

"Yeah! Go. Go." Quinn calls after them, watching her father reach out to guide Judy out of the room. "Go…"

The door shuts with a click behind them and Quinn and I let out a deep breath.

_Thank god that's over._

It's weird, I suppose, but neither of us moves from our position for a while. Quinn is probably just lost in her thoughts, and I, well, I…

I was in the bed first?

Okay, so I don't really have an excuse for not putting distance between us.

There are worse crimes.

"Oh, my God."

I tilt my head upwards, furrowing my brow at Quinn's outburst. A hand flies up to run through her hair. "When my mom finds out that this whole thing is a sham she's gonna... she's gonna be crushed."

The arm around my shoulder rises to point at the door "And my grandmother's gonna die!"

She moves to sit up and I follow suit. Quinn groans, burying her face in her hands and muttering swears under her breath.

"Your mom's not gonna find out," I say, frowning.

"My father. What's with that?" She turns to me, exasperated. "The wedding thing? Where'd that come from?"

I shrug, pulling her in for a hug. "She probably got him worked up into it. It's fine. She's not gonna find out."

Quinn is still tense and I can tell her breathing is shallow. I'm not exactly sure what to do, but I know what I want to do—calm her down. I rest my chin on her shoulder, wrapping both arms around her and rubbing the sides of her arms in an attempt to soothe her. "They're not going to find out."

"God. Rachel!" Quinn protests, but leans back into me. "What do we do?"

"Quinn, they're not gonna find out, okay?" I murmur. "Just relax. It's gonna be okay." I can feel her losing the tension in her shoulders, and start rubbing circles with my thumbs instead. "It's not like we're gonna be married forever. We'll be happily divorced before you know it."

She smiles a tiny bit and I chuckle.

"It will be fine. It'll be fine," I repeat and pull back when I realize my mouth is practically pressing against her neck. I clear my throat, which is suddenly very dry. "You okay?"

She stares at me for a beat before responding. "Yeah."

We both glance down to where my arms are, still wrapped around her. I give her a squeeze and force myself to get up, walking to the tray of food. "I'll get us some coffee."

"Yeah," she mumbles, eyes never leaving me.

There's a significant amount of tension in the room, and I can't stand it much longer, so I try to lighten the mood. "So, would you like a cinnamon soy latte?"

I turn back to her and smirk, catching her eye roll.

"You're right, you know," she says. "Get a quickie divorce, we'll be fine."

I smile at her and pour coffee into two mugs. "Absolutely."

"Gonna be fine," the blonde says, trying to convince herself. "Everything is going to be great."

I nod, mixing in sugar and cream. I think I see Quinn checking me out in my peripherals, and turn to face her fully. She blushes, and I know for sure. I smirk, glad I wore the lacy black set of sleepwear last night.

"But this little fiancée better learn how to cook, so she can take care of her partner. Keep my woman happy," I tease, turning my attention back to the food. I set the mugs on a tray along with a plate of cinnamon rolls, remembering she seemed pretty excited about them before the wedding bomb was dropped. "I don't want her leaving me for another woman."

She snorts. "Come on. Haven't left you yet, Rachel."

No, no you haven't. But it's only a matter of time.

I pass her the plate of food, and she takes it into her hands. When I don't let go, she looks up at me, raising her eyebrow. "I got it. Let go."

I hesitate but let go. I'm hit with a feeling that I can't name, but it feels like a bitter aftertaste. Like the shock after an epiphany you really didn't want.

Quinn frowns. "You all right?"

"Yeah," I say, even though the ceiling above me is spinning. Air. I'm suffocating in here. I need air. I stand up and she jumps a little at the sudden movement. "You know what? I'm gonna go."

She glances around the room confused. "Where?"

"I just kinda feel like going outside," I say.

"Okay," she says, watching me move across the room. "That's the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah," I say, blushing. "I know. I'm just... I'm gonna go to go to the bathroom, and then I'm gonna go out, outside."

"All right," she says, looking amused.

I shut the door and lean against it, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. "All right."

* * *

I close the outside door behind me carefully, making sure the demon dog can't slip out and chase after me again. I've had enough of that dog, _especially_ after the whole… clothingless contact with Quinn, which, if I'm being honest, wasn't all bad. Nevertheless, this time I really might let the eagles take the dog away.

I head over to where Quinn said a path would be in the woodland, and find a bike on the way, leaning against a pile of wood. I glance around, and seeing no one in sight, hop onto it.

The woods are beautiful, just starting to change color in the late summer. It looks just like the video I play in front of my elliptical in the morning. Only the air here is cleaner, fresher. It's vibrant, radiating with life.

It's just what I need to draw on for strength to stick out the rest of the weekend. There's another day to struggle through, thanks to Russell's ingenious idea of a wedding. I don't even have a dress! People kill themselves trying to plan a wedding in a few weeks, much less a single day.

Not that it matters, because it's not real.

It's not real, Rachel.

I pick up the speed on the bike and start talking aloud to clear my head. "Okay, you just... Just have to focus, Rachel. Just focus. This is a business deal."

Strictly business. The feelings you are feeling towards Quinn aren't real, they're part of the role of a doting fiancée. It'll all be over. We'll get a divorce and it'll all be just a weird memory. Quinn can return to Alaska, Santana will feel bad, and they'll reunite over the "pain" I've caused her and live happily ever after.

Not that it matters, because…

"This is just a business deal. Business isn't personal." The bike bumps over a few fallen branches and I tighten my grip on the handlebars to steady it. "Everything's gonna be just fine."

The universe seems to disagree, and the bike picks up speed as it goes down a rocky hill. I thought Quinn said this was an easy hike—there are practically jagged cliffs.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating _a little_. But can you blame me?

I try to brake and slow down the bike, and it works just enough so I can control the steering. "OK, this is a little rough. I can do this," I mutter.

The trail turns a sharp left and I manage to turn enough that only a few branches scratch me. "Oh, my God," I yell. "God, I hate nature! I hate it."

I just want to be back into New York City with my fake nature view.

Screw the fresh air.

"It's…not stopping, not stopping. _Why are you not stopping_?" The trail is going to make another sharp change in direction, and this time, something is caught in the tire or the handlebar or whatever controls the steering of this damn machine and I shriek in frustration, knowing I'm going to crash.

And I do. Right into a big bush. I backpedal myself and the bike out and pause with a huff. I glare down at the bicycle. I feel like it's mocking me, and pound against its handlebar. "Stop, stop, stop it, stop!"

I get off the seat and let it fall sideways before giving it a kick, which immediately has me hopping on one foot and cradling an injured toe, wincing. As I hop, I get closer and closer to a large root until I land on it and lose my balance, ankle wobbling, and collapse onto the ground with a wail.

The sky and treetops above me start to blur as tears build up. I sniffle and curl up on my side, ignoring the fact that I'm laying in dirt.

"I just wanted some air," I whine.

I fully intend to let myself go, to just stay curled up in this Alaskan forest. What's the worst that can happen? At least here I won't have to face my problems. I won't have to live with the guilt that I'm ruining Quinn's life. I know I told her that her family wouldn't find out that our engagement was a sham—_is _a sham, but who is to say they won't be heartbroken, anyway? A divorce is no better.

And Quinn deserves happiness, even if that means being with Santana, no matter how much I think she deserves better. At least Santana would be a step up from me. What kind of boss forces her employee to marry her?

Maybe I should just lie here. Let the eagles pick at my remains.

I sigh, taking in a deep breath.

The sound of drums reaches my ears and I sit up, squinting around me. Oh, god. This is how horror movies start. There's a girl alone in the woods, she hears a creepy noise—yup, there's the chanting—and she walks toward it and gets murdered by some crazy cult.

I stand up and start walking towards the noise, brushing dirt off my clothes and plucking leaves from my hair and ignoring the nagging feeling that I shouldn't be heading for the creepy cult.

"What is that?" I wonder aloud, and step around a bush to see a little old lady in an eagle cloak, chanting around a fire pit and clapping her hands to the beat of the drum.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**.**

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews & favorites & follows!**

**To **mander5000—**I believe I can make that happen (:**

**To **xxDark Angel Babyxx—**this is my favorite part of the movie too xD**

_Previously:_

_I stand up and start walking towards the noise, brushing dirt off my clothes and plucking leaves from my hair and ignoring the nagging feeling that I shouldn't be heading for the creepy cult._

"_What is that?" I wonder aloud, and step around a bush to see a little old lady in an eagle cloak, chanting around a fire pit and clapping her hands to the beat of the drum._

* * *

**Chapter Seven (Quinn POV)**

It's not until I come across the discarded bike that I start worrying.

Rachel's sudden flustered behavior was amusing this morning, and I can't help but wonder if this, this engagement proposal is more than an act for her, too. There are moments when I have no doubt she feels the same way—for instance, dinner last night. Even if we were really engaged, I doubt we'd be that touchy feely. But then there are other moments, like this morning, when she practically leapt out of bed when I not-so-accidentally grazed her boob, that make me think I'm looking through rose-colored glasses.

Either way, I left the room looking for her over a half hour ago, and she's nowhere in sight. I directed her towards the easiest trail through these woods—a _two year old _ could navigate his way through it.

I don't think there are any bears. Wolves, maybe, but they usually keep to themselves. Besides, I would have heard howling.

Squatting by the bicycle, I pause to look for tracks. Any sign that might help me figure out where she could have possibly gone. The few broken branches in the bush indicate that she probably crashed into it, and I roll my eyes. Who rides a bike through thick woods, anyway?

There's no way we can live in Alaska. She would never be able to adjust, and I'd have to constantly be saving her from fluffy dogs and overgrown plants.

Er, not that we'll be living together. Because, well. I mean, she doesn't even…

Oh, forget it.

I stand back up and take a few steps further on the trail before it reaches me.

The drumbeat of one of Gammy's rituals echoes through the trees, and I follow the sound, figuring it probably drew Rachel, too.

As I get closer, I look down at the clearing. Gammy's back is facing me, but I know it's her from the blue and red cloak that she's wearing. It has an eagle hood, and how many people could possibly own the same one?

She raises both arms so they are extended above the fire, and calls out over the drums. "Mother Earth has provided all this just as she brought you and Quinn together to be joined."

My brow furrows and I squint around the hills, trying to find Rachel. She's here, if Gammy is talking to her. Sure enough, I spot a bright yellow sweater from across the clearing. The tiny brunette is crouched beside a bush, looking uncertain.

"We must give thanks and ask that your loins be abundantly fertile."

_Crazy relative of mine say what now? _I blush at her bluntness.

"Come. Dance with me in celebration."

From what I can see, Rachel looks as uncomfortable as I am. To her credit, she manages a smile. "You know, can I, can I just thank her from here?"

"I insist!" Gammy tosses a bit of gun powder into the fire and it flares up.

Rachel's eyes widen. "Okay, okay, okay. I will come down and dance with you."

She starts making her way down the hill, cringing.

"Follow and learn," Gammy says, when Rachel joins her. She begins to fire-dance around the bonfire, urging the brunette to join her. "Come on, Rachel! Feel the rhythm of the drums. Now you."

Rachel is mimicking Gammy the best she can, looking utterly confused. I smile, trying not to laugh.

"Me what?" she asks.

"Chant!"

"Chant what?"

Gammy laughs. "Whatever comes to you. It is the way."

"But I don't know any chants," Rachel says, frowning.

"To the trees! Use your vowels."

"Yes. Chant," Rachel says, more to herself. "Yes. Chant, chant."

"Yes! Yes!" Gammy encourages "To the trees. To the universe!"

"The universe. Universe," Rachel repeats, rolling her eyes behind Gammy's back. "To the crazy."

Her eyes light up as she swings her arms. She starts murmuring, and though Gammy can't quite hear it, I can. "To the window, the window. To the wall, to the wall. To the sweat drip down my balls. To all you bitches—"

"Louder!" Gammy calls.

_Oh, my god_. No she isn't. She is not singing that song. My mouth drops open.

"To the window, to the window!" She shouts, starting to smile. "To the walls, to the walls. To the sweat drip down my balls. Now all you bitches crawl."

Rachel jumps and spins and Gammy just looks extremely confused, but I can tell she loves every minute of it.

"All skeet, skeet, mother. All skeet, skeet, goddamn," she continues, and starts shaking her hips. "To the window to the window, to the wall to the wall. To the sweat drip down my balls

To all you bitches crawl. All skeet, skeet, mother. All skeet, skeet goddamn."

She tosses her hair around and Gammy claps along, grinning. Rachel has officially lost herself.

"To the window to the window. To the wall to the wall. To the sweat drip down my…All you bitches go…"

She spins and points to Gammy. "Gammy! Let's take it to the bridge!" Gammy laughs, and the brunette starts grinding, causing my throat to dry up. _Who is this woman?_

"Let me see you get low," Rachel raps.

"Get low," Gammy echoes.

"You scared," she says, smiling.

"You scared!"

"Drop your ass to the flo'," Rachel continues, and does just that, popping back up. I have to grab a tree nearby, my legs suddenly useless. "You scared, you scared. Let me see you get low. You scared, you scared. Drop your ass to the floor."

"You scared!" Gammy interjects.

"Your butt to the flo', you scared, you scared." She pauses for the next line. "Now stop, woo, now wiggle it." She wiggles her butt.

My feet are carrying me down the hill before I realize what I'm doing. _When did they decide to work again, anyway? _Rachel's back is to me now, though she doesn't notice me. Gammy does, however, and gives me a wide smile.

I shake my head, amused.

"Now stop, woo. Jiggle it, just jiggle it." She's backing up towards me, shaking her ass.

I bite my lip. "Whatcha doing?"

"Just wiggle it," she says, before realizing there's someone behind her. Her head whips around, and she blushes as soon as she sees me. "Uh, you know, your Gammy wanted me to, you know, chant."

She swallows nervously and I raise my eyebrow.

"Chant from the heart," Gammy says, confirming what she said.

I smirk. "Balls? That's what came to your heart?"

"You know, it went with the beat," she says, shrugging.

I nod slowly. "Your phone arrived. I'm gonna go into town. Wanna come?"

She looks relieved that I've let it drop. For now. "Oh, yes, I want to go. I want to go." She starts walking towards me, then stops suddenly. "Oh, hold on."

Rachel turns to Gammy. "Is it OK if I go with her?"

"Whatever you do is what shall be," Gammy replies, smiling.

The brunette pauses, looking between us. "But you're okay if I go?"

Gammy chuckles, shooing us away. "Fine. Go on!"

"Bye, Gammy," Rachel calls over her shoulder, falling in place beside me.

I nudge her. "You're a fre-aak!"

"Shut up." She attempts to glare, but the smile on her face gives her away.

* * *

"Hey, buddy," I call out to Sam, walking into his little shop.

He grins. "Quinn, hey!"

Rachel ducks behind me. I look back at her curiously before addressing Sam. "You got that phone I ordered?"

"Yes, it came in. How are you?" he asks, digging into a drawer for the phone.

"Great. You?" I ask, and head over to the snack foods.

"Good." He glances at Rachel, smiling. "Hey, hi. Remember this?" He rolls his body, and she shrinks away.

Oh, no. They took her to the strip club. I watch them over a magazine, loving the awkwardness that Sam doesn't seem to grasp.

"Yes, yes. Wonderful," Rachel says, moving to put a table between them. "Wonderful. Yes."

He flexes his arms. "Remember that?"

"Yes. Yes. I know."

I walk over to the counter and put down the food. Rachel rushes to my side and Sam grudgingly makes his way to ring up the items. I lean over to whisper in her ear. "Think you made quite an impression on Sam."

She rolls her eyes before whispering back. "I think the part where I burst into tears just really brought us together."

"Yeah," I say, smiling. "Oh, guess what."

"What?"

"Fun fact about Quinn number 11: I like Pringles."

She looks amused. "Okay."

"They're delicious," I continue, placing a cylinder of them onto the counter. "All Hostess products. Coke, never Pepsi, and beef jerky."

Sam leaves to get the phone.

Rachel looks skeptical. "What, are you, like, thirteen?"

I nod, grinning, as Sam returns. "Here we go. It's all charged up, Quinn."

"Thanks, buddy."

"And I put your lady's numbers in, too." He turns to Rachel, holding out the phone.

She reaches out to take it. "Thank you very mu..."

He pulls it back, grinning. "Milady."

"Thank, thank you very much." He pulls it away again. She huffs. "Thank you. Just... thank you."

As he goes to pat her head she ducks and _runs_ out of the shop. I wave goodbye to Sam before following her out.

"Oh, my God. I have 37 messages." She starts listening to one, and her eyes widen. "Shit. I need a computer. Is there, is there a computer in this godforsaken town?"

I glance at her. "Sort of."

* * *

"Okay. So when it runs out, it gives you a warning. Just put in more dimes."

We're in one of those old fashioned internet cafes. The computer is one of the first versions Apple made, and I honestly don't know how it's still working. But I do know it's going to be incredibly slow and laggy.

Rachel looks at the machine like it's a foreign object.

I glance out the window and see Santana walking her kindergarten class. I still don't understand why people would let her be near their children, let alone _teach _them. But I guess she's always been one of those people that surprise you.

Remembering my conversation with Puck, I dump the dimes into Rachel's hand. "Here you go."

"What?" she asks, incredulous that I'm leaving her with a sad excuse of modern technology.

"I'll be outside, yell if you need me. You'll be fine." I wave to her over my shoulder as I jog to catch up with Santana.

"But what am I supposed..."

The door shuts behind me before she can finish the sentence.

"Hey, San!" I call out, and she stops and smiles when she sees me.

"Quinn, hey. What're you doing here?"

I gesture to the café. "Rachel needed to use a computer."

Santana looks over my shoulder and nods. "So, Rachel, huh?"

"Yeah," I say, shrugging.

"Your mom told me about the wedding tomorrow."

"Yeah, their idea, not mine. Are you coming?"

Santana nods, and turns to her class. "Hey kids, say hi to my friend, Quinn!" I smile and wave at them when they all yell out greetings. "We're just going to have a little chat, so why don't you run ahead to the playground?"

They whoop and are sprinting around the corner in no time.

"Sorry about that," Santana says. "What's up?"

I kick at the ground. "Look, I just wanted to apologize."

"For what?"

"Well, I guess," I say, and pause. "For running off to New York and not looking back. It wasn't fair to just shut you out. Especially since we've always been best friends."

Santana shrugs. "Can't say I didn't deserve it."

"What?" I say. "You didn't deserve it. You shouldn't have to sacrifice your dreams for mine."

"Still, I feel like I should have moved to New York with you."

"Would you have been happy?" I ask. "Be honest."

She hesitates. "No."

I smile softly. "Well, there you go."

"I guess you have a point," she says, and we stare at each other for a bit before she speaks up again. "Thanks, for uh, apologizing though. I've missed my best friend."

"Yeah, me too." I say, and extend my arms for a hug with a goofy smile. "Here's to a new start?"

Santana rolls her eyes but hugs me anyway. "Q, you haven't changed a bit."

"Hey!" I say, pulling back. "I'd like to think I've gotten hotter."

"Yeah," Santana says, looking me over. "Still not at my level."

I gasp. "Santana! You don't say that to a bride the day before her_ wedding_."

"Oh, shut up."

I chuckle and she looks behind me again, narrowing her eyes. "What is it?"

She smirks. "Your fiancée is giving me the stink eye."

"What? No. Rach isn't the jealous type."

She raises her eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah." I look over my shoulder, and true to San's words, Rachel is glaring out the window. When she notices I've looked back, she whips her head around, feigning interest in the computer screen. I turn back to an amused Santana. "Okay, I have no idea what that was."

San laughs. "Yeah, well, I better get back to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, wouldn't miss my own wedding, would I?"

"You never know," she says, and walks off.

I turn around to find Rachel stepping out of the shop. "Hey, did it work okay?"

She nods, and we start walking back to the docks. Rachel's quiet, and its making me uneasy.

"So, it was nice to see Santana, huh?" she asks, not meeting my eyes.

"Yeah," I say, uncertainly.

"She looked really pretty today."

I shrug. "Yeah, she did."

"Must be nice to see each other again and just catch up."

"It's definitely good to see her. It's...definitely, yeah. It's been a long time."

She looks so dejected that I'm about to tell her that there's nothing going on between the two of us, and that I only walked over to apologize, when two certain people interrupt us.

"Oh, there they are," Mom says, pointing at us and nudging Gammy. "There they are. Rachel!"

"We need Rachel," Gammy explains.

_Didn't we just leave you behind in the woods?_ I groan inwardly at their bad timing.

"Afraid we're going to have to steal you away," Mom says, smiling.

Rachel leans into my side, and I wrap an arm around her. "No, no, no, no. I'm just gonna keep—"

"No, not to worry. No strippers, no chanting in the woods. Promise," Gammy says.

"Oh, well..." She trails off, looking up at me. I shrug.

"Yeah. Come on." Mom reaches out and tugs her away from me.

I move to follow them but Gammy stops me. "But not you. It's for the dress."

"But doesn't Quinn need a dress?" Rachel protests.

"Oh, she's going to use mine," Mom says. "She's always planned to do that, since she was little and found it in the attic."

I blush and Rachel smiles at me. I'm pretty sure she's _awww _-ing in her head.

"Come on," Gammy urges.

"Okay, okay," Rachel says, looking back at me one last time. I smile at her softly, watching them go, before continuing to the boat.

* * *

I'm sprawled out on the back of the boat, munching on some Pringles and basking in the sun when I hear pebbles scattering on the walkway. I glance up, squinting against the sunlight, and see Rachel stomping her way over to the docks. Sighing, I stand up to start the engine and help her down the ladder, but she's stepping across the deck and into the boat before I've even hopped off.

Shit, if something can get her to move that fast down a shaky ladder over water and into a _boat_, it's gotta be bad.

I give her a smile, trying to catch her attention. She ignores me, so I mutter to myself. "All right, then."

I'm just slipping off the last line when the boat roars to life, with a sudden jolt that almost sends me flying off the back. Gripping the sides of the boat, I drag myself to her side, yelling over the engine. "Woah! What... Mind telling me what the hell's wrong?"

Her features, which had grown softer throughout the weekend, are stone again, just like at the office. "I needed to get away from everybody."

_Christ, Ma, what did you guys do to her?_

I don't take my eyes off her, afraid she'll crumple if I do. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Just stop talking, please!"

"Would you mind telling me what's happening now?"

The brunette presses her lips together. Oh, come on. _She's being so unreasonable!_

"Rachel," I say, nudging her. "Rachel!"

She jumps a little at the sternness of my voice. "I forgot, okay?"

I furrow my brows. "You forgot what?"

"I forgot what it was like to have a family!" she shouts, and her eyes start tearing up, though I don't know if it's from the cold wind hitting us or actual emotion. "I've been on my own since I was sixteen and I forgot what it felt like to have people love you and make you breakfast and say, _Hey! We'd love to come down for the holidays._ And I say, _Well, why don't we come up and see you instead? _And give you necklaces!"

She looks at me for the first time, bottom lip quivering. "And you have all that here, and you have Santana, and I'm just screwing it up!"

"You're not screwing it up! I agreed to this!" I interject. "You were there, remember?"

"Your family loves you," she says, her grip on the wheel getting looser and looser. I can tell she's about to break down and all I want to do is pull her into my arms until her shoulders stop shaking. Her eyes lock with mine. "Do you know that?"

I roll my eyes. "I know that! Yes!"

"You're willing to put them through this?"

"They're not gonna find out!" I argue.

"How do you know?" she asks, distraught.

"Because you said so yourself," I say, inching closer to her.

"But what if your mother..." Her eyes widen. "Oh, my God, if your mother found out." Her hands fly off the wheel as she gasps and hugs herself. "Oh, my God! What if Gammy finds out?"

"The boat is moving!" I shout, pushing her aside to take control of the boat before it gets out of control.

"If Gammy finds out, she's gonna have a heart attack!" Rachel continues, hysterical.

"It's gonna be fine!" I yell, glancing at her.

"She's gonna have a heart attack!"

I look back to the water and see that we're nearing a buoy pretty quickly. "Hold on!" I whip the boat around in a tight turn, but we make it, no scratches or puncture holes. "I don't think that hijacking a boat is a proper way to express your frustration!"

"Now..." I'm expecting a retort of some kind, or at least some wailing, but Rachel doesn't make a sound. I roll my eyes. "Oh, great. Now you decide to shut up!"

I glance behind me, but there's no one on board with me. "Rachel?" I slow the engine so I can hear better.

"Quinn!"

I frantically search the waters, remembering that the tiny brunette can't swim. "Rachel?"

"Quinn!" She pipes up again, and I see a bunch of splashes in the water, seeing a little head bobbing on the waves. Thank god it's not a stormy day, and the waves are somewhat small.

"Rachel!" I shout, turning the engine back up and spinning it around in her direction.

"I can't swim!" She gasps, arms flailing. _Like I could forget_.

"Rachel!" I yell, and point to the red floating marker. "To the buoy!"

"What?"

"To the buoy!"

She starts kicking, looking somewhat like a sad kitten in water, but I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when she makes it to the buoy and clings onto it.

"Okay," I say, as the boat glides next to the buoy. Her eyes are tightly shut and her breathing is quick and shallow. I realize that it's not over yet—there's still hypothermia to worry about, much less a panic attack. I extend my hand. "All right, come on!"

Her eyes open, but she doesn't make any move to take my hand.

"Give me your hand!" I repeat, figuring she's in shock. "Hey! Give me your hand!"

"Rach! Give me..." When she looks at me, I can see it in her eyes. This isn't about the cold or adrenaline rush. She doesn't trust me.

I clench my jaw in resolution. "Come on, give me your hand! Come on, come on. I got you."

Hesitantly, she takes my hand, and before she can change her mind, I'm yanking her away from the buoy and over the side of the boat. "I got you. I got you."

Rachel tries to pull herself up, attempting to help me out, but she's shivering too much to give any assistance. It's not a problem though. She's pretty light, even with the soaked clothes.

Or maybe it's just the adrenaline pumping in my veins.

Either way, I get her into the boat and sit her down, digging in the cupboard for an old sweatshirt or blanket—anything to wrap around her. I find a light blue wolf sweater and bring it over, putting it on her. I sit down next to her, taking her into my own arms. "Come on. God, what the hell were you thinking? Could've gotten yourself killed."

She presses further into my chest, tucking her head under my chin. "You turned the boat and made me fall in, you jackass."

I chuckle. "You let go of the steering wheel, Ahab."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she mutters, still shaking.

"It's alright," I hum, and start rubbing her arms. "You've got to get warm. Come on."

Her fists ball into my shirt, and I rest my cheek on her wet head, murmuring things just to calm her down. "Come on. It's okay. That's okay."

It's not until my teeth chatter that I realize I'm shivering, too. There's still a large amount of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, and it amazes me how strong the fight instinct kicked in. Even when Santana was confronted by that wolf when we were seniors in high school, I had to force myself not to bolt, to stand my ground and protect her. But with Rachel, there was no thinking. It was just a natural reaction.

I look down at her, tightening my hold. Her breathing against my neck is back to normal, no longer ragged. We're going to have to talk soon about, well, everything. This is becoming more and more of a reality and less of a role, and I no longer want to fight it.

I want to take the chance before she falls in waters that I can't reach. I want _this._

She sighs against my collar bone. I just hope she feels the same way.

I press a light kiss on top her head. "It's okay, Rach."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**.**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, I was on a spring break trip in NYC—so many one-shots could come from my time there, but I'll save them for later and finish this one up. **

**Thanks again for all the follows & favorites & reviews! They make my day (:**

_Previously:_

_I want to take the chance before she falls in waters that I can't reach. I want this._

_She sighs against my collar bone. I just hope she feels the same way._

_I press a light kiss on top her head. "It's okay, Rach."_

* * *

**Chapter Eight (Quinn POV)**

I've got my arm wrapped around the brunette's shoulders, guiding her up the porch stairs so that she can go upstairs and take a warm bath to rid her bones of the cold, when my father steps out and blocks the doorway.

"Do you mind?" I ask, nodding to Rachel. "We're a little busy."

He doesn't move or acknowledge anything I've said. "I want to talk to both of you."

Rachel tenses beside me and I narrow my eyes at him. "Can you let Rachel go? We had a mishap coming home."

"No, both of you need to be present," he says, and shepherds us towards the barn. I tighten my grip on Rachel but decide it'll be more efficient to just humor him. Maybe it's last minute details for the wedding.

When we get to the barn, he pauses and looks back at me. "Your mother is never to hear about any of this."

He slides open the wooden door and reveals… well, shit. I had forgotten about this itty bitty detail.

Mr. Jacob Israel.

The immigration guy from New York.

How the hell did he even get here?

Rachel balls her fist in the back of my shirt, pressing her lips together in a tight smile.

Business boss is back, and my heart sinks a little while my stomach does a backflip around my liver and into my ribcage.

He smiles his smug little crooked grin at us, stepping closer. "Told you I'd check up on you."

Seriously, how is it that this guy gets creeper with each word he says?

I whirl around to face Dad. "What did you do?"

He rolls his eyes. "I got a phone call from Mr. Israel here, who told me that if you were lying, and he strongly believes that you are, he would send you to prison. So I flew him up here."

"_Dad_," I protest, but immigration guy interrupts.

"Luckily for you, your father negotiated a deal on your behalf," he says. "Now, this offer's gonna last for twenty seconds, so listen closely."

Rachel inches out from under my arm, uneasy. Looks like she isn't going to be her usual bitch boss, overconfident self after all. I grab her hand.

"You're gonna make a statement admitting this marriage is a sham," he pauses for dramatics, "or you're gonna go to _prison_. You tell the truth, you're off the hook, and she is going to go back to Canada."

I look at Rachel, and her eyes are wide and flighty. When I don't speak within the first few seconds, my father throws his hands up in frustration. "Well... take the deal, Quinn."

"I don't think so," I say, my eyes never leaving Rachel, whose gaze finally locks with mine in surprise.

"Don't be stupid, Quinn," he warns.

I squeeze Rachel's hand, giving her a small smile for support. Who knew I'd have to be the one to grow a pair of ovaries? From the start, Rachel had been wearing the pants and dealing with all the doubt and prodding and harassment we'd received from everyone—namely, creepy ass Israel.

She tilts her head at me, arching an eyebrow, looking at me for an answer. I puff out my chest a little, nodding at her, before taking a step forward to address the immigration worker.

"Here's your statement," I say, and he clicks on his little tape recorder. "I've worked for Rachel Berry for three years. Six months ago we started dating, we fell in love. I asked her to marry me, she said 'yes.' I'll see you at the wedding."

I storm out, dragging the tiny brunette behind me. She catches up to me and gives me a questioning glance.

When I don't respond, she sighs and follows me into our bedroom without a word.

I sit down on the bed and put my head in my hands, letting out a deep breath. I feel the mattress sink beside me, and then feel her hands kneading into my shoulders in an attempt to calm me down.

"So," she says after a while, and starts playing with the hair at the back of my neck. "You sure about this?"

I lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder. Her hair smells like the sea after a storm. "Not really."

She hums. "I mean, I am very appreciative of what you've done, but I think that—"

"You'd do the same for me. Right?"

Her hand pauses in its ministrations, but before she can answer me, there's a knock on the door. We both groan and sit up straighter, but neither of us makes a move to put space between us.

"Hope everyone is decent," Mom says, striding into the room, oblivious to the mood. Gammy follows her in, just as cheery. My mother taps me on the shoulder. "You need to come with me."

My family seriously owns the award for the worst timing.

When I don't move, Gammy puts her hands on her hips. "Now, tomorrow is your wedding day. You have to give the Baby Maker a rest tonight. It's tradition."

Rachel glances over at said blanket, crinkling her nose. I smile a little.

"Give your bride a kiss good night," Mom urges.

"We're not gonna use the Baby Maker," I argue.

"You've got your whole lives to be together," Gammy points out, gathering the Baby Maker in her arms.

How I wish that were true.

Rachel and I exchange a glance, before I sigh and stand up. "Okay."

"Now, come on. Come on," Gammy says, leading the way out of the room. I follow her but pause at the doorway, looking back. Rachel's still watching me.

I gesture at the hallway. "If I don't go with her, she's just gonna..."

"Come right back," Rachel finishes for me, offering a small smile. It has more sadness in it than I'd like to see.

"Yeah," I say, lamely. "See you in the morning?"

She nods. "Yeah."

When I shut the door behind me, Gammy is standing by the stairs, waiting. She gives me a knowing look, and I blush, though I'm not entirely sure why.

"Hey, Gammy," I say.

We walk down the stairs and around the corner to the main guest bedroom in silence, and she kisses my cheek goodnight before handing me the Baby Maker.

"Thanks, Gammy."

"Goodnight, dear."

I watch her head to her own room before closing the door behind me, wrapping the blanket around me and slipping into the bed.

Somehow, it seems less comfortable than the floor.

* * *

"Quinn."

It's a hazy whisper, so I ignore it.

"Quiiinn."

It sounds like Rachel. I hum, a lazy smile stretching out on my features.

It wouldn't be the first time the brunette showed up in my dreams.

Something pokes my cheek, and I swat at the air, grumbling and cracking open an eye. "Whoizzit?"

Then I see it.

Big, brown orbs staring into my soul. Shining in pitch blackness, like some sort of predatory cat.

I open my mouth to scream but all that comes out is a muffled squeak as a hand covers it, catching the shout before I wake the household. I manage to recognize Rachel, and immediately stop yelling.

When she's sure that I'm awake—well, awake enough to register that she's not some kind of murder or that immigration guy—she removes her hand.

We stare at each other, until I break the silence. "Rach?"

"Yeah," she says.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, uhm." She stands and begins pacing. I sit up in bed, knowing I'm not getting sleep anytime soon. "You know, your house is huge. Humongous. Enormous. I walked around opening and closing doors for almost a half hour before I finally found your room. I'm pretty sure I walked into Gammy's room."

"Rachel," I say, gently.

"But I don't think she woke up. Oh, god," she groans. "I hope she didn't wake up. She already thinks I'm a freak."

"Rach," I say, again.

"Why does your family have all these traditions anyway? Why do we have to get married here? What if I had a dream wedding, not in a barn? Why'd they have to split us up tonight? I mean, I know I'm supposed to be family, but—"

"Rachel."

"What?" She stops and turns to face me. "What?"

"Why are you here?"

Her shoulders sag. "I couldn't sleep."

I bite my lip, unsure of how to process this information. Hello, I'm half asleep here. Does she want to sleep in my room? Is she subtly admitting she has feelings for me? Does she just want to kill time? Is she nervous for the wedding? Does she have second thoughts, cold feet?

Why can't women just say what's on their fucking minds?

"Is this about earlier? With Israel?" I ask.

She frowns. "Who?"

"The immigration guy."

"Oh." She sits down on the bed next to me. "Well, we never did get to finish that conversation."

"Rachel," I say. "I'm not calling this off."

"I know," she says. "I know your position on this. But I'm giving you an opening. You should take it. Forget about the deal, Quinn."

"No," I protest.

She puts her hand on my thigh to quiet me. "Look, is it really worth it?"

"It's not just a career, Rach. It's my dream job. And like you said, without you, it's ruined. Nonexistent. I can't go back to work for Finn, he'll get rid of me on the first day and reject my manuscript out of spite."

"That won't happen, Quinn."

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow. "Oh really? Because I distinctly remember you telling me something along those lines."

"Yes, but I didn't mean it!"

"Whether you meant it or not, it's true!"

Our voices have risen to a loud level, and we both freeze, listening to the suddenly deafening silence of the house. When nothing creaks or scuffles against the floor, we both let out our held breaths.

She scoots closer to me on the bed, taking my head in her hands, rubbing my cheeks with her thumbs. "Look, Quinn. Forget what I said, okay? I needed you. I needed you to marry me so that my job, all my hard work and investment in the company wouldn't be for nothing. And I left Canada for a reason. I can't go back."

I hum and her thumbs still. "Take the out, Quinn. I would have said anything to get you to stay, to commit to this… this sham. And so I did. You'll go back to the company, I'll put in a word for you. Maybe they'll even take you over Finn, to avoid complications or something."

I take her hands into mine and lower them, holding them on my lap. "Are you done?"

She nods.

"Trust me when I say I've thought about backing out before. Do you really think it hasn't crossed my mind? I'm facing _jailtime_. Who cares about the fine? While my father may disown me, Gammy and Mom would definitely help me out. So yeah, I've considered all this before. Believe me when I say I'm all in. We're in too deep."

Rachel's eyes remain on our entwined hands. "Quinn…"

"It'll be okay. Everything is going to be fine," I assure her. "Just let it drop, there's nothing more to say."

She sighs. "Fine."

I tip her chin up so she's looking at me and smile. "Okay, then. All right. Let's get some sleep, huh? Can't have my bride miss out on her beauty sleep before the big day."

She chuckles and stands, moving towards the door. I frown and catch her wrist.

"Wait, where are you going?"

Rachel looks back at me confused. "To bed?"

"Oh, right." I say.

"Yeah," Rachel says. "Uh, Quinn?"

"Hm?"

She smirks. "Aren't you going to let me go?"

"Oh." I bite my lip. "Uhm, well, I was thinking…"

"Don't hurt yourself."

I throw her a look and huff. "Look, I was just going to say rather than you wandering the house at an ungodly hour in the morning and getting lost yet again, risking waking everyone up, why don't you just stay here? The bed's big enough for, like, four people."

She looks amused. "Alright. But no funny business."

"You have my word," I say, holding up my hands innocently. "I'll even give you the warm side."

I scoot over and pull back the covers, motioning for her to get in. The brunette hesitates before sliding in beside me. "Such a gentlewoman."

"Well, you are my fiancée."

"Not for long," she says, chuckling, and lies down on her side. She must be tired, because she doesn't even say anything about the infamous blanket that is stretched out across the bed.

"Yeah, that's right." I snuggle into the blankets. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what?"

"Why don't you want to go back to Canada? It's not like you'll be stuck there forever. You'll get another visa and come right back in no time."

She's quiet. "I just can't."

"But why?"

"Quinn…"

"I'm sorry, you don't have to answer. But you can talk to me, y'know."

When she doesn't speak up, I assume she has shut down. But she surprises me by opening up again. "Remember what I told you about my tattoo?"

"Yeah. About your parents."

"Right. We travelled a lot—my fathers designed and remodeled homes before selling them again. I've been all across Canada. There's no part of it that doesn't remind me of them."

"Oh," I say.

"So, I can't go back."

"Gotcha." I find her hand in the bed and give it a quick squeeze before turning onto the opposite side. "Well, g'night, Rach."

She clears her throat. "Goodnight, Quinn."

I close my eyes, wondering how I'm going to sleep, with her sharing the bed and all. Who was the genius that invited her to stay? Right. Me. I mean, I can't control my subconscious. Plus, I'm a cuddler. Whenever I share a bed with someone, I always wake up closer to them, if not holding them, the next morning.

And I'd really rather not have Rachel chop off all my hair, like she threatened to a couple days ago.

Instead, I take a few slow, deep breaths, and start naming book titles in an attempt to clear my mind. But my attention quickly strays from titles to the rhythmic iambic beat of Rachel's evened breathing, a sure sign that she has already fallen asleep. Damn my generosity with the warm side of the bed.

Her quiet breathing works as a kind of white noise in the harsh silence of a large noiseless home, and I feel my eyelids closing without effort. It's the fastest I've relaxed in a long time.

When Rachel rolls over, I feel her nose bump into my shoulder. I hear her breathing pause, as if her body senses that we've breached the distance put between us. As if her mind is trying to sort out whether I'm a friend or foe—yeah, good luck, my conscious brain can't even accomplish that.

But it seems to reach a decision, because her arm winds around my waist and tugs me impossibly closer. My eyes flutter at the sensation, and I practically melt. It would definitely explain how our bodies seem to mold together.

Okay, so maybe I'm a little drained. Exhausted. But give me a break, today has been an emotional roller coaster.

I hum in appreciation for the cuddlefest warmth and comfort, falling asleep while thinking of white dresses, straw-covered floors, and a certain tiny brunette.

* * *

**A/N: Also, since this story is coming to an end (only like 3 more chapters, tops!), what would you guys like to see next? I kinda like "Faberry-ing" movies, so shout out your favorites (:**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**.**

**A/N: Thanks for all the follows, favs, PMs and reviews! (more on the movie suggestions at the bottom)**

_Previously:_

_But it seems to reach a decision, because her arm winds around my waist and tugs me impossibly closer. My eyes flutter at the sensation, and I practically melt. It would definitely explain how our bodies seem to mold together._

_ Okay, so maybe I'm a little drained. Exhausted. But give me a break, today has been an emotional roller coaster._

_ I hum in appreciation for the cuddlefest warmth and comfort, falling asleep while thinking of white dresses, straw-covered floors, and a certain tiny brunette._

* * *

**Chapter Nine (Quinn POV)**

"Q, relax."

I glare at Puck. "I _am_ relaxed."

He scoffs. "Oh really? Because you're fidgeting and it's annoying."

"Fine," I say. "Maybe I'm a little nervous."

"Well, if you wanna back out, just faint or something. I'll get you outta here and we can hit up a bar." He grins at me.

"Puck, for the last time, I don't have cold feet."

"So you think she's gonna bolt?"

"What?" I choke a little at the thought. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about that. But, I mean, after our conversation last night, she shouldn't have any doubts about my dedication. Speaking of which, I was keeping tabs on the immigration guy. He really did come to our wedding. Fucking creeper. "What? No, I just don't like standing in front of this many people."

"Oh, right. I figured since you lived in the big city now you had gotten over that."

"Come on, that's not the same thing and you know it."

He shrugs, and we both turn to scan the pews. I'm pretty sure the whole town is here. I don't even know how my mother managed to pull all this off, anyway. The barn looks spectacular—the floor is still covered with hay, but it's more of an artsy touch if anything. There are gardenias and dark green ribbon hanging at the end of each bench, and there's a similarly decorated archway at the altar, which Puck and I are standing by at the moment.

I'm playing with the hems on my mother's wedding dress, which is more cream than white, but modern fashion nonetheless. The dress didn't really matter to me—it's a sham.

Okay, the dress mattered.

And right now, it wasn't flowing properly in front of me or spanning down the steps of the altar like I had imagined. As I stooped to rearrange the extra length, the organ started up.

I took a deep breath before standing upright again, focusing my gaze on the back door. Everyone turned in their seats, smiling in anticipation.

Well, maybe that was just me. They could have been smiling at my little cousin, who we picked for the flower girl. Four-year-olds tossing flower petals could be pretty cute, too, I guess.

"Remember, just give me the signal—"

"Puck, shut the hell up," I growl.

He shrugs, grinning, and his eyes widen a little. I turn back to the aisle and see her. Rachel, she's…

Wearing my grandmother's dress.

And pulling it off like it was stitched for her.

I beam at her, and she smiles back a little. Forgetting my previous worries about dress arrangement, I step down the altar to take her hand, and lead her back up. She hands her flowers to Santana—Rachel's choice of a maid of honor, which I was a little surprised at—and turns to face me.

"Everyone, please be seated," Sam says.

Rachel and I smile at him. "Sam."

He nods at me before addressing the crowd. "We are gathered here today to give thanks and to celebrate one of life's greatest moments."

I turn my attention to Rachel, who won't make eye contact with me. Still, she's beautiful. Though, I have to say, the image of waking up to her and her bed head this morning was even better. It's too bad the closeness between us will probably end when we return to New York.

"To give recognition to the beauty, honesty, and unselfish ways of Rachel and Quinn's true love in front of family and friends. For it is their family and friends who taught Quinn and Rachel to love. So it is only right that family and friends are all..."

No, fuck that. This has to be real. It _is _real. I'm going to make it real when we get back.

"Do you have a question?" Sam asks, and I frown when I notice Rachel has a hand up, interrupting the ceremony. What is she doing?

"Uh, no..." she says, confused.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Your hand is up."

"Oh, it, it's not a question," she says, "but I do have something I need to say."

Shit, fucking hell. Don't do this, we talked about this. "_Rachel_," I warn.

"Can it wait till after?" Sam asks, glancing at me.

"No. No," she says, and avoids my stare, turning to face the crowd. "Hi there. Hi."

There are some awkward, nervous chuckles in the audience. The immigration guy sits up taller, perking his ears and looking smug. I want to punch his face in.

"Thank you all so much for coming out. I... have a bit of an announcement to make about the wedding. A confession, actually."

Fucking Israel shoots me a crooked grin.

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

She ignores me. "I'm a Canadian. Yes, Canadian."

Everyone just looks confused, but the poor, polite Alaskans just nod and keep listening.

"With an expired visa who was about to be deported. And because I didn't want to leave this wonderful country of yours, I forced Quinn here to marry me."

My mother lets out this awful noise, a cross between a gasp and the last squeak of a possum that has just become road kill. Gammy turns to comfort her, and Dad just shoots me an I-told-you-so look.

"Rachel, stop it," I say, helplessly. The truth. It's out there. I don't know how to save this.

"See, Quinn has always had this extraordinary work ethic. Something I think she learned from you," she says, smiling at my family. "And for three years I watched her work harder than anyone else at our company. And I knew that if I threatened to destroy her career..."

The brunette trails off, glancing back at me. "She would, she would do just about anything."

Tears build up in my eyes, and she breaks our gaze to speak to the crowd, clearing her throat. "So I, uh, blackmailed her to come up here and to lie to you. All of you."

I see Santana tense up, but Puck shakes his head at her before she can make a move towards Rachel.

"And I thought it would be easy to watch her do it. But it wasn't," she says, and hesitates again. "Turns out it's not easy to ruin someone's life once you find out how wonderful they are."

_What is happening?_ I wonder to myself.

She looks between us. "You have a beautiful family. Don't let this come between you. This was my fault."

"Rach..." I say, pleading with her to stay.

"Quinn, this was a business deal, and you held up your end, but now the deal is off. I'm sorry."

And just like that, she steps off the altar, leaving me there. When she gets halfway down the aisle, she points to immigration guy, but doesn't stop. "And you, meet me at the dock. You're giving me a ride to the airport."

Then she disappears, abandoning me and my shattered heart on the altar.

Puck instantly moves to support me, putting his arm around my shoulders. Santana has vanished into thin air—I hope she left to drag Rachel back here.

"Q, you okay?"

"I can't believe she left me," I look up at him. "She left me."

He furrows his brow, but my family surrounds us before he can respond.

"What were you thinking?" Dad asks.

"I don't, I don't know," I say, my eyes still trained on the doorway, willing Rachel to return.

"Quinn, you lied to us," Mom says quietly, tears rolling down her face.

"Let me get my head on straight, okay?" I say, suffocating. I don't even chuckle at the pun. "I'll explain everything later. I'm sorry."

I dash out the room, lifting my wedding dress up so I can sprint up the stairs and into the brunette's bedroom.

But she's already left. All her bags, everything.

She planned this before she even stepped foot in the church. That damn.. that…

There's a piece of paper on the bed, and when I pick it up, I realize it's a note for me on top of a stack of paper—my manuscript.

_You were right. This book is special. I lied because I knew publishing it meant I'd lose you as an assistant but... you have an extraordinary eye, and I'll make sure we buy this before I leave._

_Have an amazing life. You deserve it. -Rachel_

"Well, that was... crazy," a voice pipes up from behind me.

I turn to find San. I glance behind her. No Rachel.

"She left before I could kick her ass," Santana clarifies. "You know, people are gonna be talking about this forever."

I snort. "Yeah. Yeah."

She tilts her head. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I repeat, then shake my head. "No... I just feel..."

I pause and Santana furrows her brow, looking concerned. I unclench and clench my fists, suddenly feeling angry. "You know what the problem is?" Santana shakes her head. "You see, the problem is that this woman is a gigantic _pain in my ass_. First there's the whole leaving thing… I understand that. It's a sham wedding. It's kind of stressful."

I gesture at the bed, where the letter is. "But then she goes ahead and she leaves this note. Because she doesn't have the decency, the _humanity_ to do it to my face."

I whirl around and throw my hands up. "Three years! Three years I work with this terrorist. Never once has she had a nice thing to say, and then she goes ahead and she writes this crap!"

"Quinn."

"None of that matters. We had a deal!" I yell, frustrated.

"Quinn," Santana interrupts again, oddly patient.

I sigh. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just... She just makes me a little crazy."

Santana smirks. "Yeah. I can see that."

We are both quiet for a moment, until she leans against the doorway, arching her eyebrow. "So you're just gonna let her go?"

I freeze, locking eyes with her, before bolting out of the house.

There's still time. I can catch her.

* * *

As soon as I step out onto the lawn, my family is all over me.

"Quinn, what's happening?" Mom asks.

"I got to talk to her," I say, trying to move past them.

"Why would you do that?" Dad asks, incredulous.

"Guys!" Gammy says, sensing a blow out between us.

"It has nothing to do with you," I retort.

"Stop it!" Gammy protests.

"I'm not gonna let you do this," my father says.

"I'm not asking your permission," I respond, glaring.

"Annie!" My mother gasps, and begins shouting. "Russell! Russell!"

We both look over, and Gammy is on the ground, eyes closed. My poor mother, already hysterical from the sham wedding, is now sobbing uncontrollably.

Dad and I rush over to her side.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," Gammy mumbles, and my eyes widen. No, not now. Please, no.

"Easy," Dad says. "Somebody get a doctor!"

"It'll be okay," I assure them, though I'm not convinced myself. I glance over and see my mother in tears. "Mom?"

"Get a doctor!" Dad shouts again.

"I got it," I say, and phone for help.

Moments later, we're all riding an emergency helicopter. It's been awhile since Gammy has spoken, and we're all pretty sure she's unconscious. I reach over and pat my mother's hand, giving her a small smile.

"Quinn."

It's a faint whisper, but it's there nonetheless. We all bend closer to hear her.

"Right here, Gammy," I say, taking her hand.

She reaches up and shakily removes the oxygen mask from her mouth to speak more clearly. Then she squints up at my father and me. "You two need to stop fighting. You'll never see eye to eye. But you're family." She pauses for a breath, turning to Dad. "Promise me you'll stand by Quinn. Even if... if you don't agree with her."

He glances at me. "I promise."

"Quinn. Promise me you'll work harder to be a part of this family," she says.

I nod. "I will. I will, Gammy."

She smiles, and closes her eyes again. "Well, then, the spirits can take me."

"Oh, Annie," Mom says, covering her face in her hands.

We all bend closer, and watch for the slow rise and fall of her chest as an indication she's still with us. "Gammy?" I whisper.

Then she bolts upright, popping off the oxygen mask again and smiling. "I guess they're not ready for me."

We all gape at her. She turns to the paramedic behind her. "I'm feeling much better, sonny. No need to take us to the hospital. Take us to the airport, please."

"Mom, what? Were you faking the heart attack?" Dad asks, mortified.

"Oh, come on!" I shout, frustrated and relieved. "Come on."

She shrugs innocently. "Well, it was the only way I could get you two to shut up and get us to the airport!"

"Uh, we're not authorized to take you to the airport," the pilot yells back at us.

My heart sinks a little.

"Dave Karofsky, don't make me call your mother."

He looks embarrassed, but gives her a thumbs up. "You got it."

"You scared the hell out of me," I complain, swatting at her arm.

She grins. "But I got you to the airport, didn't I?"

"Not the point."

* * *

"Okay. Come on, come on, come on, come on," I mutter, bouncing from foot to foot as I wait for an old friend to pick up her phone. I rushed out of the helicopter before it had even fully landed. I was going to make it.

"Tower. Talk to me."

"Brittany! It's Quinn Fabray."

"Oh, hey, Q."

"Hey, I have a little favor I need from you, Britt," I say, glancing behind me at the runway. Rachel's on that plane. I gotta talk to her. Can you stop it?"

"Oh, yeah! I heard about your lady bailing. Drag-ola."

"B! I need you to stop the plane. Please."

"Oh, I can't do that," she says.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Come on!" I groan as it picks up speed and lifts off the ground.

"Oh, no. No!" Mom says, following my gaze.

"What's wrong?" Dad asks, confused.

"Rachel's on that plane," Gammy clarifies. "And she didn't get to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"That she loves her!" Mom says.

"So she could tell her that she loves her, too," Gammy adds.

"But how does she..."

"If Rachel didn't love her, she wouldn't have left," Mom explains.

"Of course not," Gammy says.

My father looks between them. "Am I the only one not getting this?"

"Oh, Russell!" Mom rolls her eyes.

"Britt, Brittany! Look down." I start waving my arm at the tower. "Look down."

"Like... Oh, there you are!" I see her wave at me. "Sorry, Q. There was nothing I could do."

I sigh. "Thanks, Britt."

I let the phone drop to my side, trying to figure out what to do next. Could I make it back to New York in time? How many hours did she have before getting kicked out of the country?

"I'm sorry, kid. I didn't know how you felt about her," Dad says, coming to stand by my side.

"Honey, it's gonna be okay," Mom says, rubbing my back.

Well, looks like I've got a big day of traveling ahead of me. I turn to my family. "So, when's the next flight?"

* * *

Three flights, a cab, and a short sprint later, I'm finally stepping off the elevator into the office. I pause in the doorway, looking for her.

"Mike?" I hear, and immediately recognize the voice. Mike, of course, is doing his best to ignore her, despite the giant box that she's struggling with. "Mike. Mike!"

He finally turns to face her and take the box.

She hands him a slip of paper. "I need for you to send the boxes in my office to..."

I step out and stride down the middle of the workplace, drawing everyone's attention. Mike glances at me, and looks confused. I briefly wonder what she told them, but focus on what I'm going to say once I finally reach her.

"...to this address, please. This one right here. This address right here. Okay?"

She senses his attention is elsewhere. I stop behind her.

"Can you do that?"

"Yes. Sure," he replies.

"Good, all right. Thank you," she says, a little annoyed.

"Uh, Miss Berry?" Mike asks.

"Yes. What?" She notices all the attention is on her. "What?"

When she turns around, her eyes widen at the sight of me.

"Hey," I supply, when she doesn't say anything.

"Quinn," she greets without a smile, then furrows her brow. "Why are, why are you panting?"

"Because I've been running."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Really. From Alaska?"

I step forward. "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah? Well, I don't have time to talk." She turns to the boxes, fiddling with them. I need to catch a 5:45 to Toronto."

"Rachel."

"I need the boxes to go out today," she continues. "I want to make sure everything is—"

"Rachel! Stop talking!" I finally erupt, and she jumps, so I soften my voice. "I have to say something."

"Okay," she says, glancing around the office. Everyone is still watching us.

I don't even give a shit.

"This will just take a sec," I add.

"Fine. What?"

I take another step closer to her. "Three days ago, I_ loathed_ you. I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab. Or poisoned."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Oh, that's nice."

"I told you to stop talking," I remind her, and she presses her lips together. "Then we had our little adventure up in Alaska and things started to change. Things changed when we kissed."

Murmurs and whispers start up around us, but I continue, despite the light blush on Rachel's cheeks. "And when you told me about your tattoo. Even when you checked me out when we were naked."

She snorts. "Well, I didn't see anything—"

"Yeah, you did," I deadpan. "But I didn't realize any of this until I was standing alone. In a barn... wife-less."

We lock eyes, and I can tell she's a little surprised.

"Now, you can imagine my disappointment when it suddenly dawned on me that the woman I love is about to be kicked out of the country," I continue, and she bites her lip. "So, Rachel. Marry me. Because I'd like to date you."

Tears line the rim of her eyes and she steps closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Trust me. You don't really want to be with me."

"Yes, I do."

Rachel keeps protesting. "See, the thing is, there is a reason why I've been alone all this time. I'm comfortable that way. And I think it would just be a lot easier if we forgot everything that happened and I just left."

"You're right," I say, and I see her eyes flash. "That would be easier."

Her lower lip trembles when it's clear I'm not leaving. "I'm scared."

"Me, too."

She takes in a shaky breath. "Aren't you supposed to get down on your knee or something?"

I snort. "I'm gonna take that as a 'yes.'"

"Oh, okay."

I close the distance between us, cupping her cheek with my hand as I bring our lips together. She responds right away, running a hand up my shoulder and into the hair at the back of my neck. It's not exactly a chaste kiss, there's more passion in it than our previous one at my welcome home party, but there's no tongue either. We're just exploring each other, testing the waters. And all I can think is…

_Finally_.

When we eventually part, I can see her eyes shine. I smile at her, and the applause in the office suddenly reaches my ears as we're ripped from our moment.

It reminds me of our time in Alaska, when we would get lost in each other and constantly be pulled from our worlds by parents or old friends before anything could happen.

But this time, I know there'll be many more moments.

And I look forward to wherever this crazy tale leads me, as long as Rachel keeps looking at me like this, like I'm the only thing keeping her from floating off the edge of the world.

Because believe me, it's a wonderful feeling to be complete.

* * *

**(A Week Later: The Immigration Office Interviews)**

"So, let me see if I've got this right," Israel asks. "You two are engaged again."

"Yes," Rachel says.

"Yes," Quinn affirms.

"For real?" he says, raising both eyebrows in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Yeah."

He leans back in his chair, fiddling with a pencil. "You wanna go through with this? Because one wrong answer, I'm gonna take you down."

The newly engaged couple exchange glances. " Okay."

"Let's do it," Israel says, looking pleased for a new hunt. "Quinn, you first."

Quinn crinkles her nose, and Rachel kisses her cheek before exiting the room.

"When did you first start to date?"

"Last week."

"That going well?"

Quinn smiles. "So far it's great. Thank you."

* * *

"What kind of deodorant does Quinn use?"

Rachel frowns. "Secret?"

"What scent? Shower fresh? Citrus?"

The brunette tilts her head, trying to remember if she's even seen Quinn's deodorant. It's not exactly something you wave around and brag about.

* * *

"Was it love at first sight?" Sam says, shaking his head. "No."

* * *

"I loved Rachel from the beginning," Russell says. Annie and Judy turn to stare at him incredulously. He glances at them, shrugging. "What?"

* * *

"What side of the bed does she sleep on?"

Quinn hums. "She sleeps on the left."

"What side of the bed do you sleep on?"

The blonde cocks her head and arches an eyebrow at Israel. _Really?_

* * *

"Look, are they soul mates?" Sam offers, and again shakes his head. "But will they kill each other? No."

* * *

"Are you a good driver?"

Rachel sits up straighter, smiling. "Oh, excellent driver. Excellent."

* * *

"Do you think Rachel is a good driver?"

Quinn shakes her head. "Well…"

She makes a skidding noise, moving one of her hands like a car until it crashes into the other hand and causes a pile up. She then makes a gesture and sound effect for an explosion, and starts wailing like a siren afterward.

* * *

"In my mind, I see her with someone perhaps..." Sam pauses to flex his bicep. "...more swarthy, muscular."

* * *

"We don't use the word 'Rachel' around Kevin," Gammy says, patting the dog on her lap. "He still hasn't warmed up to her."

She motions for Israel to watch. "Rachel."

The dog starts barking, and Gammy laughs. "See? It's the damnedest thing."

* * *

"I have never farted in front of her," Rachel states adamantly. "Nor will I ever fart in front of her."

* * *

Quinn presses her lips together, glancing down. "She farts in her sleep."

* * *

"Would you consider Rachel a good dancer?"

Sam nods. "You can tell by the way she drinks her soda pop that she's a good dancer."

Israel looks confused. "How, how... How is the soda pop relevant to the dancing?"

Sam blinks. "I don't understand this."

* * *

"What pet names do you call Quinn?"

Rachel smiles, and gets starry eyed. "I call her... puppy. Pumpkin."

* * *

"Monkey, daisy, little lamb," Quinn says, blushing.

* * *

"Kiddo. Bird." Rachel pauses to think. "Sometimes I call her Gwendolyn."

Israel looks confused at the last one.

* * *

"When you say, you know, the position in the relationship…" Quinn trails off, skeptical.

"Top or bottom?" Israel clarifies bluntly.

Quinn gapes. "You're asking me a question about who's on top?"

"You took an oath when you walked in this office."

"I did not take an oath." The blonde looks frustrated. "When did I take an oath?"

Israel sighs. "Lauren should've done that, but she didn't. That's okay."

"Who's Lauren?"

"She's the girl behind you."

Quinn's eyes widen and she starts to turn around.

"Don't look around," Israel says, and Quinn freezes.

* * *

"Quinn knew your favorite color," Israel points out.

Rachel bites her lip. "Blue?"

"Wrong!"

"Red?"

"No!"

"Uhm," Rachel says, "dark... maybe like a hunter green?"

"No. White."

Rachel narrows her eyes. "White?"

"Okay, moving on."

* * *

"Her favorite color is blue." Quinn says, pleased with herself for getting it right on the first try.

"What's her favorite color when she's not at home?"

Quinn frowns. "I don't know."

* * *

"What relevance does a ball in a net or a Fruit Roll-Up or a Pop-Tart have to do with my relationship with Quinn?" Rachel shouts, growing impatient. Seriously, was this even a real interview? Was this candid camera?

Israel shrugs. "If you're getting excited... Who are you engaged to?"

Rachel glares at him. "Quinn."

"Very good. Got one right."

She huffs.

* * *

"Who are you engaged to?"

"I'm engaged to Rachel Berry," Quinn states, wondering how much longer the interview is.

"And on the wedding day, who will be next to you?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I'm going to marry Rachel Berry."

"Final answer?"

Quinn quirks an eyebrow in challenge. "That work? Yeah, final answer .Is this a game show? I don't understand…"

She glances around the room for a camera, wondering if this is all some sick joke.

Israel stacks up the papers in his hand and clears his throat. "Okay, that should be good. I'll sort through all the answers and call you. Don't forget, I'll—"

"Be checking up on us, yeah, we know," Quinn finishes for him. God, why can't they just have a new immigration officer?

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so the epilogue is up next, since I got a lot of people asking for one.**

**As far as the movies go, thanks so much for all your shout outs, lots of them surprised me and I wish I had the time to do them all. It's definitely taught me that I need to watch more movies haha**

**But, here are the two I liked the most: **_Pretty Woman _or _27 Dresses._


	10. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced **_**The Proposal**_**.**

**A/N: Thanks to all the followers, favs, and reviewers for stickin' with the story. Sorry this took so long, I rewrote it like 5 times.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

They had gotten the hint.

They had gotten the hint when Quinn's family gave them a little tiny stocking at Christmas, embroidered with: _The Unborn Child_.

They had gotten the hint when Russell accidently forgot a small mitt and baseball in their guestroom when her family had left for Alaska. Rachel had kept it on the bedside table, unsure of what to do with it—they might need it at some point, after all. It'd be a shame to throw out and waste a perfectly good mitt.

They had gotten the hint at dinner, when Judy had not-so-subtly asked, "So, when can we expect some grandkids? Are they on the way?"

Quinn's fork had clattered against the plate as her hand flew up to clutch the collar of her shirt. Leave it to her mother to say things like that when she took big bites of food. Rachel had abandoned her own food to assist her choking wife.

When Quinn had managed to breathe again, Judy had raised her eyebrow. "Well?"

"_Mom!"_ Quinn had said, voice still hoarse. "Come on."

"It's a reasonable question, Quinnie," Russell had added.

Quinn had shot them both a glare before sighing. "Fine. Look, we're just not at a point in our lives and our careers that we can have kids. We haven't really even talked about it, but yes, I can assure you that there _will_ be grandkids, not that it's any of your business."

"What do you mean, you're not ready? There's never a good time to have kids. If you wait too long—"

"Ma, come on. We're too busy and involved in our jobs."

Rachel had fidgeted in her seat. "Well…"

All heads at the table had flown in her direction, and she shrunk into the chair.

"Rach?" Quinn had prompted. _Do explain yourself…_

The brunette had shrugged. "Your mother's right, Quinn. There is no prefect time to have children, and we _are_ getting older. Think about it, we're already financially stable. I can maintain my career from home if I need to, so you can stay focused on your job and writing."

"What are you saying, honey?" Quinn had asked, forgetting her parents' presence in the room. Judy had been practically bouncing in her seat, while Russell had fought a smile and lost.

Rachel had smiled and patted the blonde's leg. "I'm saying we should have a baby."

Quinn's eyes had lit up, but she schooled her features when she faced her parents. "Okay, so Rachel and I have some things to discuss, but like I said, you'll have grandkids sooner or later."

Judy had leaned over to Russell to whisper to him, "With these two bunnies, it'll be sooner than later."

Russell had chuckled as Quinn frowned. "What? What'd you say?"

"Nothing , dear," Judy had replied. "This squash is delicious, Rachel! You _have_ to give me the recipe."

Quinn had glanced between her parents, knowing she had missed something.

But when a few months had passed, with no news of a pregnancy, the hints started back up.

Baby pamphlets in the mail. Coupons for diapers, strollers, and towels. Decorated ones-ies.

They had gotten the hint.

But they had _really_ gotten the hint when Gammy and Judy visited them and pulled out the Baby Maker, claiming that she had just _happened_ to bring it along, and since it was there, they might as well have it. You know, to help with that sort of thing… and had they even started trying?

It had opened the floodgates. Quinn had let out a frustrated growl, startling Rachel, who was standing beside her. They had watched as she stalked to the refrigerator, reached into the back of the top shelf, and returned carrying a thin silver capsule. She had grabbed Rachel's hand and dragged her across the apartment and into their bedroom, leaving Gammy and her mother in shocked silence.

But the loud thump against the door had seemed to jolt them back to life, and Gammy had strode over to the aforementioned door, knocking twice. She had heard a loud groan before the door was ripped open and an angry, messy haired and shirtless Quinn faced her. "What_ now_, Gammy?"

Gammy had smiled at her and winked, extending her arm out. "You forgot the Baby Maker."

Afterwards, when a panting Rachel had collapsed against the blonde's side, tucking her head under her chin, Quinn had nuzzled her nose into the brunette's hair and muttered, "I'm sorry we're related to those people."

Rachel had chuckled. "Yeah. Well, they got us to finally do the deed, huh?"

"True," Quinn had replied, remembering the many times they had started and forgotten to get the capsule of sperm. "But it's not our fault that our sex is so mind-blowing that we completely lose all coherent thoughts."

The brunette had snorted. "Yeah, right. That's it."

* * *

**Present Day (three years later)**

"Are they asleep?" Quinn whispered from the doorway, holding two mugs. Rachel nodded, tucking in the last blanket and tiptoeing out of the room, inching the door shut behind her.

"Is that for me?"

Quinn nodded and offered the _World's Best Mom_ mug to her. Rachel took a sip and sighed, closing her eyes at the warmth. They moved from the dark hallway of their apartment into the lighted living room to rejoin the blonde's family, who seemed to always be here.

Really, they might as well move to the city. They'd at least save the planet from their growing carbon footprint.

Quinn sunk into their couch cushions, raising her arm up when Rachel plopped down and curled into her side, resting a head on the blonde's shoulder.

"Aren't you guys glad you used the Baby Maker?" Gammy said, beaming.

Quinn attempted a glare, the dark bags under her eyes helping her case. She growled into her mug as Rachel rubbed her arm to quiet her.

That fucking Baby Maker.

They weren't lying when they said it had magical powers.

Usually it took a few tries to get pregnant.

But no, oh no. Not with the Baby Maker.

It had given them triplets.

The word still made Quinn want to faint—which she had, the first time she'd heard it, three years ago in the hospital room. Right smack onto the tiled, sterile floor. Rachel still wouldn't let her forget it.

But come on, _triplets_!

Two boys, one girl. They were unbearable, terrifying, uncontrollable, tantrum-filled… candy-sweet, adorable, little babies.

They were their little hearts and joys. They were their life.

Why had they even waited this long? Who needed a career, anyway?

* * *

Okay, so they were only adorable when they had fallen asleep. Someone—Quinn couldn't remember who, but she suspected Judy—had suggested that they take the kids out to the park today, since the late spring weather was finally giving into the inevitable summer.

They'd trekked the few blocks from their apartment, making sure each kid had a grown-up's hand to hold (not surprisingly, the triplets all rushed away from their mothers' awaiting arms to their _funner_ grandparents and Gammy). Rachel and Quinn had feigned betrayal, but played on the reverse psychology to hold hands for the first time in months. Both had small smiles on their faces; it'd been a while since they had some alone time.

But, once they'd gotten to the park, shit went down.

"_Language, _Quinn," Rachel scolded, smacking her wife.

"I said that aloud, didn't I?" Quinn muttered, slapping her forehead. These kids were the death of her.

Arnie and Alex, the brunette boys, were running around and ducking into the bushes, getting leaves all in their hair and dirt all over their clothes. She felt Rachel sigh beside her, probably already thinking about laundry.

Beth, their little blonde daughter, was chasing around her brothers, unable to keep up but too stubborn to give up. Quinn shook her head and chuckled. Their kids were insane. Their kids were like miniature versions of them. God, the world was going to hate them.

Whoever had dubbed the 'terrible twos' hadn't yet reached the 'terrorizing threes.' And they had _three_ threes, so their situation was a triple threat of torment. It was a hell in heaven. And Quinn loved every second of it.

"Quinn?" Rachel said, nudging her.

"Hm?"

"What is Alex playing with?"

Quinn looked around the park, spotting their son bent over a brown pile with a stick in hand. She jumped off the park bench and stormed towards him, cursing under her breath. "Al, no buddy, come on. We don't play with our poo!"

Rachel chuckled as a few heads turned their way at the blonde's outburst. Quinn returned with the stick, grumbling. "Who leaves their dog's shit on the sidewalk, anyway? It's like an unspoken law."

"I don't know, sweetie," Rachel said, tugging her back down beside her once the stick was thrown into a bush. "Hey, it looks like Beth is hitting a little growth spurt, huh?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, smiling as she watched Judy fuss over the Arnie and Gammy chase Beth. She had to give Gammy credit—to be ninety-five and still be able to keep up with a toddler? That's who Quinn wanted to be when she grew old. Her father started towards them. Quinn chuckled. "Beth's brothers' better start being nicer to her, because soon she's going to figure out she's bigger and pummel them."

Rachel laughed. "Oh, god."

"Hey, Dad," Quinn said, scooting over to make room for him on the bench. He sat down. Things had gotten better between them once he saw the little kids. They became his world, too.

"You know, if you two wanted to go out tonight, we could watch the kids," Russell offered.

Quinn and Rachel exchanged a glance. "It has been a while since we've had a night kid-free."

"So go!"

"You don't mind?" Rachel asked.

"Not at all. We love seeing them," Russell replied, smiling. "Why else do you think we visit so often?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'd like to think it had something to do with visiting your own _daughter_."

Russell pretended to think it over. "Nope, the grandkids."

"Gee, thanks, Dad."

* * *

"Do you think they'll be alright? The last time we left them with a babysitter or your family…god, I don't think they were even old enough to remember. Should we go back?" Rachel hesitated, turning back to look up at their apartment from the city sidewalk.

Quinn squeezed her hand and smiled. "Rach, it'll be okay. We can't baby them forever."

Rachel hummed, not moving from the spot. "Quinn, you know they'll always be our babies. Even when they have their own and start growing grey."

"Yeah," Quinn said, sighing. She knew. How did parents ever survive? It was an emotional rollercoaster ride when all she had wanted was the scenic gondola route, gliding with grace. "But, look, they're like tiny birds. You can't hold onto them as chicks and nudge them out of the nest when they're fully grown. You gotta give them little nudges along the way, so they get comfortable."

Rachel glared at her. "You did not just tell me to shove our babies out the window, did you?"

Quinn swallowed and tried to play it off. "What? No, of course not. Uhm, that's not what I meant—what were we talking about, again?"

"You're lucky you're still gorgeous."

The blonde grinned and swept the brunette up in her arms, spinning her. Rachel squealed and slapped her wife's shoulder. "Quinn! Put me down!"

Quinn set her down carefully, but offered up her arm. "Forget about the kids tonight, Rach. Come on, let's have some fun."

Rachel, still blushing, smiled shyly and looped their arms together. "So, where are we headed?"

"You'll see."

* * *

Quinn sighed, dropping her head back against the rim of the large, gleaming bath. It had _jets_! It was a fucking whirlpool. And the best part was that they could light candles, play some music, and just _relax_ for once. They didn't have to worry about a kid choking on a toy, or the candles being a fire hazard, or anything like that.

"Thanks for dinner, Quinn."

"I thought you'd like it," the blonde replied, smiling. They had gone back to the quaint, quiet little place that Quinn had taken them to for their first real date. And now she had DJ E Z Rock playing softly in the background. Hell yeah, she still knew how to work the charm.

Rachel leaned back against Quinn, closing her eyes at the feeling of skin on skin. It hadn't been that long, but whenever they had the chance to be intimate, it had to be quick. They hadn't had the luxury of moments like this, of just feeling each other. She pulled Quinn's knees up so they acted as armrests.

Quinn wrapped her arms around the brunette, placing a few light kisses on her shoulder. "This is nice."

"I know," Rachel hummed. "I've missed this."

Quinn nodded and picked up the loofah, rubbing it on Rachel's chest. "Why did we decide to have kids again?"

Rachel snorted. "Your grandmother."

"Hm," Quinn said. "I think she tricked us."

"I bet Judy paid her," Rachel replied, running her hand along the blonde's legs.

"It's all a conspiracy, baby," Quinn said, nodding seriously, moving her scrubbing to Rachel's lower belly. "They were only in it for babies."

"And we gave right in," Rachel said, shifting between Quinn's legs as the blonde's hand kept sliding south.

She felt Quinn smirk against her shoulder. "Hon, are we still talking about—"

Rachel spun around and pinned her to the back of the tub, smashing their lips together. Bath water sloshed onto the floor as they giggled, sinking further into the bubbles and losing themselves in each other.

* * *

The next morning, they stumbled out of the hotel, still in a post-food, post-whirlpool bath, and post-sex induced haze; Quinn and Rachel were definitely not prepared for what would greet them when they got home.

After calling a taxi, riding the elevator up, and unlocking the door, Quinn stepped into the kitchen to make some late morning coffee and start up some tea for Rachel. Gammy looked up from the newspaper and smiled.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" Quinn asked, setting the kettle on the stove and flipping the switch to high.

"Oh, they went for a morning walk," Gammy said. "They think if they keep up the exercise they'll outlast me."

Quinn chuckled, and was about to respond when she heard a stampede of feet slap down against the floor and barrel down the hallway.

"Mom? Mom!" Beth's voice cried out.

"Mom!" Arnie shouted. Quinn could hear the waver in his voice, and knew he was on the verge of tears. Had they been gone that long? Oh, god. They slept for days, didn't they? Dammit. Quinn knew they should have set an alarm. They were just so exhausted nowadays.

"Oh, dear," Rachel murmured. "What's wrong, sweethearts?"

"Mom," Beth began, but choked on a sob.

"Gammy," Alex finally spoke up, but hesitated. "Gammy told us you and Momma weren't coming back."

Quinn shot Gammy a glare, who shrugged and looked amused.

"Why wouldn't we come back?" Rachel asked.

"Because we were being bad!" Arnie cried.

"Yeah," Beth said, "we'll be good!"

"We promise," Alex said, his voice already firm for a three year old.

"Wait, where's Momma?" Arnie said, and Beth started crying again. "She left us!"

Quinn finished pouring the tea into the mug and stepped out from the kitchen bar. "I'm right here, kiddos."

Alex's eyes widened in relief. They all sprung from Rachel's embrace to clasp onto the blonde's legs, like little leeches. Arnie looked up at her. "So you're not leaving us?"

Rachel smiled and took the mug from Quinn. "No, sweets, we're here to stay."

Quinn scooped up Alex and gave him a tight hug before putting him back down. "Are you all alright?"

They nodded and Beth sniffled once more, and Rachel bent over to place a light kiss on her head. "We love you, don't listen to Gammy."

"Yeah, she was just trying to make a joke."

Alex's brow furrowed. "But it wasn't funny."

Quinn tapped his nose. "We know, she forgot the funny."

"Is she gonna get a time out?" Arnie asked.

Rachel and Quinn exchanged a look and smirked. "Yes, yes she is."

"Excuse me?" Gammy hollered from the kitchen.

"Why don't you three go back to playing?" Rachel suggested. They nodded and rushed back into the toy room.

Rachel brushed past Quinn and plopped down next to Gammy, eyeing her. Gammy moved the paper up to block the brunette's staring. Quinn stood just behind her, and crossed her arms.

After a few minutes, Gammy rolled her eyes and set down the paper, figuring that they were both too stubborn to let her off the hook. "Oh, alright. What do you two want?"

"Gammy," Quinn complained. "You know exactly what you did."

"I was just having a little fun," Gammy said, shrugging. "I didn't even put the idea in their tiny little heads."

Rachel scrunched up her nose. "Wait, you didn't?"

"No!" Gammy exclaimed. "They woke up, and when you two weren't already making pancakes and eggs, they assumed you had left them for good. Judy, Russell, and I just never corrected them."

"You let our children think we _abandoned _them?" Rachel said through clenched teeth. Quinn moved to her side to rest a hand on her wife's shoulder, rubbing soothing circles.

"Well, they were terrible yesterday," Gammy said. "I did you two a favor. Maybe they'll behave more."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "They're not dogs, Gammy."

"Well, no kidding, Q," Gammy said. "If they were at all like Kevin, I'd have them jumping through hoops at the snap of my fingers."

Rachel closed her eyes, focusing on steady breathing and not kicking her in-laws to the curb. They could sleep there, right?

The door opened and Judy and Russell strode into the kitchen. They took in a tense Rachel and an annoyed Quinn.

Judy spun around to face Russell. "Darnit! I knew we'd miss it!"

"Sorry, hon." Russell shrugged.

Judy sighed. "Well, what happened?"

"Ask them, I'm in time out," Gammy smirked.

"Oh, my god," Rachel muttered, and looked up at Quinn. "From now on, we're getting a babysitter."

_THE END_

* * *

**A/N: The next story will be **_Pretty Woman_.** I'm pretty sure it was outvoted like 5:1. Though I think I'm gonna take a little hiatus because the semester workload is kicking up a notch.**


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